


ceaselessly into the past

by shepherd



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Anal Fingering, Blow Jobs, Bottom Steve, Bottom Steve Rogers, Character Death (temporary), Edge of Tomorrow AU, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Graphic Description, M/M, Nick Fury is a Villain, Suicide, Time Loop, Violence, he's seen as one, in regards to this au at least
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-11
Updated: 2015-02-23
Packaged: 2018-03-07 03:49:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 84,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3160097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shepherd/pseuds/shepherd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Edge of Tomorrow/Live.Die.Repeat AU, following the movie. After earth is invaded by the Chitauri, Tony Stark is forcefully drafted into the military for a suicide mission. It ends up with him being inexplicably caught in a time loop that always seems to end with him dying horrifically. And, of course, the day was a Thursday- he had never gotten the hang of Thursdays. (please regard the tags for warnings- there are more explicit warnings inside)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. don't you worry (it's just the end of the world)

Tony Stark had been to London multiple times before, but for decidedly more fun reasons than the end of the world as he knew it.

  
He stared out of the window down at the buildings below, squinting against the early morning sun. They were coming in for a landing, the helicopter circling around an almost deserted Trafalgar Square, and the pilot murmured something low and incomprehensible into his radio. He paid it no heed- it didn’t concern him. His duty was waiting below.  
He huffed out a sigh and tugged at his suit jacket as they came down, trying to make himself presentable again. It was a long way from New York, and he had slept almost the entire journey. He would be lucky if his hair wasn’t a complete mess. Pulling his Starkphone out of his pocket, he fired off a quick text to Pepper – _arrived. have fun with Dad and Obie!_ \- and barely reacted as they touched down with a bump. He mentally prepared himself for a tedious few hours in a miserable city, and tried not to think of all the wonderful company back home.

  
Pepper’s reply text came in almost as quickly as he sent it. _God help me_ , it simply read, and Tony managed his first smile in days.

  
He could see that an unfamiliar woman was waiting for him some distance away, dressed impeccably in uniform. She stood alone and watched as he ducked out of the helicopter, hair tousled by the wind. He made his way to her immediately, taking in a deep breath and preparing himself for the show- and flashed her a winning smile before she could notice how tired he looked.

  
“Well, hello there,” He dropped his voice low, the voice he always put on when faced with someone either as pretty as her, or someone who looked like they thought they knew him better than he did. Usually, the most they had seen was the front page of garish gossip magazines. They didn’t know a damn thing about him, but he played up to their standards to keep them stupid.

  
She offered a professional hand, even as she smiled bashfully. He accepted it. “Mr Stark,” She greeted, voice almost lost over the helicopter’s rotors. “A pleasure to meet you. How was your journey?”

  
“Oh, please, the pleasure’s all mine.” He released her hand after a polite amount of time and she was already leading him away. She knew how short they all were on time. He let it happen, but pulled a face. “In-flight entertainment could have used a bit of sprucing up, but it’s a military ‘copter, so I’ll cut them some slack.”

  
She laughed. She kept up the inane chatter the whole way to the grand building where Fury waited, from topics ranging to the weather to her mother’s cat tearing up her curtains, but they never touched on the Big Topic. They never did. No one did, unless they were military officials. He didn’t blame any of them, really. No one wanted to think about an alien invasion.

  
She walked him all the way up, and even let him walk in first. She showed him the waiting room and told him that he would be seen as soon as possible, and to enjoy his stay in London. He thanked her, told her he would even though he definitely wouldn’t, and smiled dazzling bright. She wandered off with a bit of a wobble, and disappeared.

  
He prepared himself for one hell of a wait, entertaining himself with mindless games on his mobile, but the clock had only just turned ten when there was the sound of sharp heels on the tiles. Tony looked down, and a fearsomely tall woman looked down at him, all business.

 

“Director Fury will see you now.” She told him, and she was much less friendlier than the woman from before. She looked a tad judgemental, her lips pressed tight, and she didn’t look at all happy that she was fetching him- a secretary’s duties. Tony could empathise.

  
“Thank you.” He said with the same practised smile, and without a response she turned away, hurriedly walking him down the hall. She clearly had better things to do with her time. She led him down to Fury’s office, brushing shoulders with some of the most important men in the country, and she didn’t give them a second look. Tony liked that.

  
Fury’s office was large but makeshift, almost empty apart from his desk and a large map spread across the wall. Tony knew he had been in the United States only two days before, with no plans to come to England, but despite everything on his plate he had settled and maintained order well. His room was short and wide, with walls of stone, and it was chilly but Fury seemed to not feel the cold. With a wave of his hand, he gestured to Tony’s seat in front of the desk, but he himself stood in front of the map. “Thank you, Hill.”

  
She left with the tiniest of nods, and then it was straight down to business.

  
“Let’s not waste time on pleasantries,” Fury said, his voice echoing around the room. Tony barely had the chance to sit down, let alone open his mouth, but he found himself grateful for the brutal honesty. He didn’t much fancy to linger with the condemned. “We both know what I need.”

  
“And you’ll get it.” Tony promised. “You’ll get a shipment of more armours this afternoon, nice and ready for the battle tomorrow.”

  
Fury’s gaze was withering. “Is that a promise.”

  
Tony summoned the classic Stark smile. “It’s a guarantee.”

  
It wasn’t as well received as it usually was. Fury’s expression became one of disapproval and he turned, gesturing to the map behind him. “Stark,” He began. “Do you know exactly what this is?” He deliberately didn’t give Tony time to respond, but it was okay. He was a little too tired to be glib today. “This is Operation Downfall. This is the entire might of multiple combined forces, the EDF, SHIELD, you name it, leading from the beaches of France, the Mediterranean, and Scandinavia. We’re leading pressure on the eastern front towards the Russians and the Chinese, trying to push the invasion back.” His hand waved from London, to France, all the way to the very centre of Europe. He rested it there. “We’ll all be meeting here, exterminating this Chitauri scourge along the way.” He paused. “A lot of good soldiers are going to die tomorrow, Mr Stark.”

  
“I’m fully aware of that, Director.”

  
Tony had only had personal dealings with Nicholas Fury once or twice before, usually leaving such tedious business visits to Obadiah or his father, older members of SI who had more experience with hard asses like him. But with his father unavailable and Obadiah struggling to calm things with scared employees in the Unites States, Tony was the only one available. Currently, he was wondering if that was a mistake. Tony hadn’t been sure what to expect, only being warned by Obadiah that Fury had one hell of a mask- and by the looks of things, the famous mask was firmly in place today. Stony faced, Fury tilted his head to one side, inquisitively. “How’s your father?” He asked, almost conversationally. But Fury was purely practical, and he didn’t mince words- there was nothing conversational with him.

  
He had been anticipating questions, mentally preparing himself as soon as his feet hit British soil. Pepper had warned him, formally requested with a glint in her eye not to lose his cool and make Stark Industries have any more problems than they already had. He had promised, with a crooning, ‘Please, Pep, you wound me. I never make trouble for you and Pops.” She had thumped him. He felt like he only half deserved it.

  
He had promised, but being faced with the frank discussion of his father’s illness was far more offensive than he had expected.

  
He swallowed back the bitterness as well as he could, sick to death of all the incessant questions of inheritance, power, the direction that he would take Stark Industries in, and tried to be as polite as possible. “He’s doing better. Much better.”

  
“Well, I’m glad to hear that.” Fury said, and Tony tried to convince himself his patronizing tone was all in his head. “But, you see, our soldiers aren’t feeling so great about your dad’s company anymore. They hear about your father, and his illness, the way he’s running his company ragged in some twisted way of asserting his dominance. We need to prove the might of our combined armies, and the power of those suits of yours.” Fury leant against his chair, still towering over Tony. “This isn’t like any war we’ve fought in our history.”

  
“On the contrary,” Tony smiled, false bravado shining as brightly as ever before. “We’re killing aliens, which is weird, sure, but it’s still a war. A simple war.”

  
Tony remembered a time where whenever a news reporter said ‘aliens’ they had a strange, faraway look in their eyes that only said _‘what the hell am I saying?’_ Five years, millions of casualties and too many miles of destroyed land later and they all said Chitauri with defeated, empty expressions instead.

  
“And some might agree with you,” Fury said, and his tone was crystal clear. He thought those people were morons. “However, I’m not one of those people. They don’t know how hard it is to fight, how difficult it is to face creatures like this. That’s why we need to get the jump on them tomorrow. This is why we need every soldier we could get.” Fury then smiled, slowly. “Someone like you.”

  
There was a long silence, and the room was full of only the sound of their soft breaths. Tony could hear Hill’s heels clicking against the floor again, the faint murmur of discussion, too far away to make out. He waited, letting the silence drag out to an uncomfortable level, waiting for Fury to elaborate, the explain himself. He didn’t. They both sat, and waited for the other to speak.

  
Eventually, Tony broke the silence. He spoke quietly, carefully. “I don’t think I’m the soldier type.”

  
“How so?”

  
Tony huffed out a tiny laugh. It was the only reaction he could muster. “I don’t take orders well.”

  
“It’s not too late for you to play nice with the other boys.” Fury assured him, like a parent preparing his son for his first day at primary school. Tony blustered, but he was cut across. Fury straightened himself with a small smile, and clapped his hands together once, and loudly. It made Tony jump, and he prayed the man hadn’t noticed. “That settles it. You’ll be participating in combat tomorrow.”

  
Tony’s heart stopped beating in his chest. “Excuse me?”

  
“You’ll be shipping out to France in an hour,” Fury said, like he hadn’t even spoken. Tony body was suddenly cold, like ice was freezing over his immobile body. “There will be a camera crew standing by, so the world can see your dedication to the cause, fighting on the beach with the first wave of our soldiers.”

  
“What the fuck, Fury?” Tony demanded, abruptly standing, knocking his chair backward. The ice was creeping into his bones, wrapping tightly around his heart, tight enough to ache. “What the actual fuck? You can’t do this.”

  
“Actually, I can. I’m drafting you.” Fury’s eyes were hard, like chips of flint. “This isn’t an offer for you to join. I’m ordering you to fight tomorrow.” He took his seat, giving him a tight smile and pulling out thick folders from his desk drawer. “You can ask Hill about what to do. You can go, now.”

  
“I can go?” His voice was much louder than he intended it to be, but he found he didn’t care. “I can go?! Fuck you. I refuse.” He had to restrain the childish urge to kick the desk, or throw the chair across the room. He hadn’t had a temper tantrum in years- that is, if you asked anyone who wasn’t Pepper Potts- but he couldn’t believe the nerve. “Do you know who I am?”

  
With a moment’s pause, in which Tony breathed very heavily, his face feeling too warm for comfort, Fury sat back and crossed his arms against his chest. “Tell me who you are.” He challenged.

  
Tony wasn’t in the mood for any more games, but he played along. “I’m Tony fucking Stark. I can make life hell for you.” He grit out, harshly. “I can make my father do anything, and when he dies, I can do whatever I want with my company. You don’t have the right to push me around like a pawn in one of your fucking games, do you hear me?”  
Fury smiled, very tightly. “Are you threatening me?”

  
“Yes, Director, I am!”

 

In the quiet that followed, Fury was very still, very quiet. Tony’s breath was caught in his chest, and he struggled to keep himself calm as the Director stood up, slowly. He took several calculated steps around the desk, across to Tony, and looked him dead in the eyes. Fury stood several inches above him and had eyes dark with sharp intelligence, and while he tried not to think about what they could mean for him after he just blackmailed the fucking Director of SHIELD, Tony tried to hide the way his knees wanted to buckle under the weight of all the pure fear he carried.

“Fine.” Fury said, eventually. “You don’t have to fight.”

  
All the tension seeped out of Tony in that one following moment, and he tried not to smile or exhale heavily. He didn’t want this man to see the effect he had on him. “Thank you, Director.” He said instead, struggling to remain detached. He turned to leave, not wanting to spend a moment longer in his presence, hyper aware of Fury following him closely across the office. He didn’t care how rude he had been, how Pepper was likely going to flay him alive once he got back- he wasn’t being forced into war, and that was all that mattered.

  
He pushed the double sided doors open, ready to leave all that bullshit behind him.

  
“Arrest this man.” He heard Fury say from behind him, completely casual, and as soon as his words truly sunk in, Tony span, staring at the Director slack jawed. The mask was still firmly in place, even as he effortlessly attempted to condemn a man to death.

  
Tony exchanged brief glances with the soldiers at Fury’s door who looked just as surprised as Tony did- and then as soon as he saw the loyalty and the decision in their expressions, he turned tail and ran.

  
It wasn’t graceful, and it wasn’t brave, but in that moment Tony Stark was neither of those things. He fled through the halls, aware of shouting and heavy footfalls behind him, chasing him down. Tony wasn’t a soldier, but he was one hell of a sprinter, and with a little luck, he would lose them quickly. That was, if no one got in his way. And someone did.

  
Someone darted out in front of him, standing directly in his path. She stood firmly, immovable with feet planted onto the floor, and raised her weapon. It pointed directly at his chest.

  
He sucked in a breath, scrambled to a halt and froze- _shit, that’s a gun, what do I do, what do I do?_ \- and she pulled the trigger with no hesitation, and Tony jolted when electricity leapt out to meet him, and everything went dark.

  
-

  
He woke slowly, to the sound of vague shouting.

Tony shifted with a gentle exhale and a flicker of a frown. He lay on his side, on something that he wouldn’t describe as comfortable, too firm for that, but it was hardly the worst thing he had ever slept on. Bags, he thought, someone had propped him up against bags. Kind of them, he supposed. As he gradually came too, he was aware of the warmth of gentle sunlight and the sound of movement around him increased, growing in volume. There was shouting, distant commands in confident voices, and the soft roar of voices beyond that, private conversations and murmurs too far away to hear. Over them, a woman spoke over the loudspeaker in a foreign language, sounding like she was issuing orders or making some kind of statement, running through different languages as she spoke.

  
With all the noise, his head ached a little, pain throbbing between his temples, and with a wince he reached up to rub at the skin- and with soft clicks and sudden restricted movement, he realized that he had been cuffed. They were tight, chafing at his skin, and he stared at them, wide eyed.

  
Confusion sinking in, he tore his gaze away and sat up as well as he could on his elbows. Looking around, he found himself surrounded by soldiers, all dressed and ready for playing at war. Small groups marched or jogged past, led by commanding officers with the same serious faces. Army cars drove along a small stretch of road, soldiers hanging off the back. A London bus even rumbled by, spewing smog everywhere, and the steely blue gaze of a somewhat familiar soldier on a recruitment advert stared down at him, a heavy looking gun slung over his shoulder. He couldn’t quite place his face, and it nagged on him, but he supposed it didn’t matter. I’m still in London then, he thought, and he wasn’t sure how to feel about that. He cast his mind back, battling against the headache, and while it took more effort than it should have memories came crawling back to him, and he didn’t like what he found. They had arrested him, tazed him- he was Tony Stark.

  
No one tazed Tony Stark.

  
“On your feet, asshole!” A loud American voice suddenly called, heavy footfalls unnervingly close to Tony until a booted foot kicked hard at the bag he lounged on. Tony jerked away like he had been burnt, caught off guard, and looked up at the offender. It was a soldier who stood above him, looking down like he was something disgusting stuck to his shoe.

  
Anger trumped the bewilderment, and he rolled off of the bag as gracefully as he could- stumbling a little- and squared up to him, sneering. “What the hell did you just call me?”  
The soldier glowed back down at him, unafraid. “I called you an asshole, and that’s how I address recruits before I bust their holes with my boot heel. Got a problem with it, go cry to your mama.”

  
“Excuse me,” Another voice cut in from across the way, and they both turned to stare, dispute momentarily forgotten. Another soldier approached, and he was much smaller and thinner than Tony expected. He knew that the army needed all the men they could get, but he didn’t expect them to hire someone quite like him. Looking him up and down, he assumed he was kept around mostly for experience- there were lines etched deeply into his skin, crows feet and laugh lines, but he wasn’t laughing now. He was smiling, but it was the patronizing sort, the kind you gave a boisterous child. He looked more like an accountant than a soldier.

  
“Can I help you, son.” It wasn’t exactly a question- it was more of a bored statement that yes, he knew he could help you, and he wasn’t happy about it at all. Tony recognised his rank immediately.

  
“Where the hell am I exactly, Sergeant?”

  
“Forward operating base, Heathrow.” The Sargent gestured to a wide, flat building behind him. The name plastered across the building confirmed it- they were still in London, but miles away from where Tony expected to be- where Pepper had expected him to be. They stood on the runway, all cleared out for the soldiers. “You just came off a flight with the fresh recruits.”

  
Tony shot him a look. “Do I look like a fresh recruit?”

  
With that same smile, the soldier went through a pantomime of looking him up and down. “No. You don’t.”

  
“You know who I am?” He demanded, but gave neither man a chance to respond. “I’m Tony Stark. I work for Stark Industries. My father is Howard Stark. What the hell am I doing here?”

  
The Sergeant arched an eyebrow, but dismissed the other will a jerk of his head. “I got this.” He said, and with one last distasteful look, the soldier who had kicked him stalked away, disappearing into the crowds. “So how exactly did someone like you end up in processing, Stark?” His smile transformed into a full out grin. “Poker night, I’m guessing? Bachelor party? Sleep with someone influential’s daughter?”

  
“I’d like to explain that to your commanding officer.” Tony said, darkly. “And to my father. I’m not supposed to be here, so if you could get me to a phone I’d appreciate it.”

  
“I can’t do that. We’re all moving out tomorrow, for the battle. We’re on lockdown, so no calls coming in or going out.” He kept smiling, almost daring Tony to question him. It rubbed him the wrong way, and he seized him up in response, eying him up. The Sergeant’s shirt said Coulson in wide, block letters.

  
“You’re Sergeant Coulson.” Tony said, and Coulson nodded.

  
“Well, Coulson, take one good look at me.” He toyed with the idea of striking a sarcastic, ‘draw me like one of your French girls’ pose against the backdrop of army life, but decided against it. He didn’t think the Sargent would take it well, and the handcuffs restricted him too much for the full effect. “Look at where I am. Isn’t it obvious that I don’t belong here? I should be in New York. My father is expecting me. I need that phone call.”

  
Coulson stared him out for a moment longer, hiding the judgemental gaze almost well enough for Tony to miss it. He was intimately familiar with such an expression. Eventually, he said, “I’ll see what I can do for you. Come with me.”

  
Relief flooded him, and all the tension left his body. “Thank you.” He said, and meant it. Coulson turned on his heel and walked proudly across the tarmac, seemingly right at home. He had a commanding presence, and Tony was beginning to understand why he was here. He followed behind him as closely as he could, trying not to lose him in the crowds, and ignored the stares as best he could. He didn’t fit in, the one man who stood out against all the dull uniforms in a finely tailored suit.

  
“How is your father doing?” Coulson asked as they walked briskly, presumably towards a higher upper who would sort Tony out and hopefully put him on the first flight to New York. After the morning he had experienced, all he wanted was to curl up in his bed and sleep off the headache. “I’m sorry to say I’ve heard he’s not doing so well.”

  
Tony grit his teeth together, and for a moment didn’t say a thing as he struggled to keep his temper under control. “He’s not. He’s old, though, his health is never good.” He was proud to say that his voice came out mostly even, but if he was lucky, Coulson would think it was just emotion in the face of his father’s death.

  
Coulson hummed softly. “We’ll be sorry to see him go. He’s a good man.”

  
“We all will.” Tony smiled at him, all teeth. “Though I’d like to assure you that his passing won’t affect the delivery of our Iron Mansuits. When I take over Stark Industries I will honour every promise my father made.”

“I don’t doubt it. But if tomorrow is a victory, hopefully we won’t be needing too many more of them.”

  
Coulson then stopped and smiled widely at him, and when Tony realised what was going on, he stopped dead.

  
Caught up in conversation, he hadn’t realized where he was being lead. It was clever of the Sergeant, and Tony was impressed and infuriated all at one point. It was a soldier’s tent, brightly emblazoned with a C. It was one of the first of many, all kept in a net row, no doubt teeming with sweaty and irritable soldiers. Sweaty soldiers he didn’t mind, but only if they were naked and pressed up against him in all the good ways.

  
Coulson looked almost delighted. It was almost inhumane. “After you.”

  
“…You’re not taking me to the phone.” He didn’t move a muscle.

  
At that, Coulson only smiled wider. He took steps forward, invading Tony’s space. When he moved away, the soldier only moved closer. “No, Stark, I’m not. You’ve not been very honest with me.” He reached into his jacket, pulling out a wad of paper. It crinkled as he opened it, and held it out to Tony’s face. He flicked it with one finger.

  
“I’ve been told that you’re a deserter.” Coulson said, and his tone was suddenly venomous, eyes like chips of ice. “That you were conscripted because of the new law coming in, and then tried to run away like a coward. We know you, Stark, you’re a slippery one. No doubt you’d do anything to get out of combat and run back to your daddy where it’s safe.”

  
Rage was like fire in his veins, and he suppressed the urge to punch Coulson directly in his self-righteous face. He wanted to see that face all bloody. It was bullshit, and he wanted nothing more than to lash out. He clenched his fingers, nails cutting in his palms, cursing the cuffs as Coulson prattled on. “Don’t you worry, boy. I’ve been assigned, alongside some other good people to make sure you don’t get out of seeing your side of the action tomorrow. You’ll be watching what our boys do for people like you.” With another jerk of his head, Coulson summoned another soldier, who looked far too eager to grab Tony by the shoulders and force him into the tent. Tony went alone half willingly, barely protesting, mind working a mile a minute to figure out just what the hell was going on- and then, what he could do to get the hell out of it.

  
The tent stank of sweat, like he had just walked into a gym, and he couldn’t help but wrinkle his nose. It got him some less than pleased looks from the soldiers inside, a mix of men and women tucked away in alcoves who all looked like they could kick the shit out of him at a moment’s notice. The soldier who grabbed him pushed him forward, refusing to give him a moment’s peace. He turned his head, and of course, Coulson was following them closely, still droning on. “These people will know you as a deserter, I can promise you that. They do everything for people like you, when you’re all high and mighty and hiding behind all that wealth of yours.”

  
Tony became hugely self-aware of the fact that he while he wasn’t a short man by any means, almost everyone in the room had at least two inches on him and a lot more muscle, and they were all beginning to notice the cuffs. He wondered if any of them recognised his face, and hoped that Coulson wouldn’t say ‘deserter’ so loudly. He squirmed uncomfortably under their gaze. “Don’t worry. When you bleed with them tomorrow, it’s all the same blood. We’re all human, after all. Especially in battle.”

  
They had reached the far end of the tent, and Coulson darted forward, turning into the alcove on their right. Music poured out of it from a radio, and there was the distinct sound of murmuring voices. The smell of cigarette smoke was clear, even smothered under the odour of sweat as it was.

  
“Squad,” Coulson called cheerfully for their attention, but he already had it. The soldiers in the alcove jumped to attention, almost guiltily, and stood almost painfully straight in the presence of their Sargent. There were six of them, two women and four men, who all looked mostly as capable as the other. They all watched Coulson with alert eyes, and those who looked at Tony seemed suspicious. “Stark, this is J Squad.”

  
“Is that Tony Stark?” One of them, seemingly the youngest man, almost a boy, blurted out. “You invented the suits!” He stared at him like he couldn’t quite believe he was standing there, his eyes vivid with emotion. Tony could empathise- he couldn’t quite believe it either.

  
“Is that’s Stark, why’s he cuffed and why’s he here?” Another one said, frowning. “Wouldn’t think someone as big and clever as him would be here with the likes of us.”  
Coulson ignored the question, and instead surveyed the team like a proud father with a brood of children. “It’s good to see all of these fine people being so productive on an important day like today. Warms the heart, and makes me glad to know that soldiers of your calibre will be leading the charge on the beach tomorrow.” As he spoke, he roamed the room, peering at each of them like he was interrogating them. Tony watched with confusion as most shifted uneasily, apart from one unflinching red headed woman who stared back at him, arms crossed against her chest. He smiled at her- and then reached down and ripped up the duvet from one of the bunks, revealing a card game underneath. There was a heavy bet going on, surprisingly so for soldiers.

  
There was a chorus of colourful curses, practically in unison. Coulson snatched up some of the cards, and began, “What’s my opinion on gambling, Private Barton?”

  
“Dislike it, Coulson.” He supplied, immediately. Coulson arched a brow.

  
“Excuse me?”

  
“Sergeant Coulson.” He corrected just as quickly.

“Good. And Romanoff, why is that?” As he spoke, he handed Barton a card.

  
She spoke with a dry lilt, like it was rehearsed, carved into her eyelids. “Because it entertains the notion that our fate is in hands other than our own, sir.” He nodded, and passed her one as well.

  
“And how do I feel about the concept of fate, Odinson?”

  
“Through vigilance and discipline, we are masters of our own fate.” The biggest man in the room rumbled, and he accepted a card when offered. Coulson handed them out to the others, the bright eyed man who spoke before and a dark haired woman.

  
“That’s right. Go ahead, now.”

  
Sharing looks of equal misery and resignation, but refusing to protest, they all tore the cards into several small pieces and shoved them into their mouths. Tony stared.  
“You might call that notion ironic.” Coulson said, joining him once more as the sounds of almost mournful chewing gradually died down. “But don’t worry about it. I’m sure you’ll come around.” Producing the keys from a pocket, Coulson made quick work of his cuffs. Tony immediately rubbed the skin, raw from the tightness. Turning back to the squad, he made sure to speak as loud as possible from them all to hear, “Tony Stark is a deserter. I’m making each of you responsible for him tomorrow, and I want him combat ready by the time we move out tomorrow. I’m sure you’ll treat him gently, won’t you?”

  
Against the chorus of not very reassuring laughter, Tony stepped forward with a protest. “Combat ready? I don’t- I’m not-”

  
“Mr Stark believes he doesn’t belong here, and it’s your job to make him see the truth.”

  
“So we have to be careful he doesn’t go running all the way home to daddy dearest?” Barton had a nasty grin, and he eyed Tony like he was a rare cut of meat.  
“Yes. If he tries anything, show him your own personal brand of persuasion. Widows Bite might do the trick.” There was another chorus of laughter, and Tony found that Romanoff had an even meaner smile. “Dismissed.” Coulson nodded at them all, and moved to shove past Stark.

  
Panicked, Tony reached out and grabbed for him, moving to follow. “No- I’ll never be combat ready, not by tomorrow morn-“

  
He had never fought a day in his life, outside of the occasional bar fight with drunken idiots who thought he was completely physically incapable because he was, in their words, a nerd, but Coulson had limited sympathy. He shoved him back into the alcove, merciless and rough.

  
“You’ll be a different man tomorrow.” Was all he said. “If you make it through, you would have learnt several valuable life lessons, I’m sure.” With that, he turned on his heel and left Tony to the mercy of J squad. He was out of Tony’s reach before he could protest, and before he could chase after him again, a hand fell, clamping down on his shoulder. Jumping almost out of his skin, he turned to find Odinson eyeing him with distaste.

  
“Don’t bother.” He told Tony, and shoved him into their little piece of hell. Stumbling, he almost fell into Barton. Romanoff was staring with dark, intelligent eyes as she nibbled on the last piece of her card. Most of the squad surrounded him, like crows around carrion, and murmured what were no doubt mocking insights to each other. What seemed to be half of the soldiers from the tent were peering in, jeering at him, and Tony wondered if he was even going to make it to the morning before being eaten alive.

  
“You better be getting in uniform,” The dark haired woman said, apparently disinterested as she sprawled across one of the bunks. “Private Stark. There’s physical training in ten.”

 _So this is real_ , was the last thought Tony could manage before a pile of clothes and combat boots which stank to high heaven were shoved into his chest.

  
-  
Morning came far too quickly for his liking.

  
He didn’t need to be jostled awake by anyone- he was already wide awake. He didn’t get a single second of sleep that night, kept awake by the twisting and turning of his stomach, the fear that clenched his heart. His mind whirled with possibilities, ways that he could escape his fate, but he didn’t think that J squad would let him go quite so easy.

  
Romanoff was the first to wake at five in the morning, coming alive quicker than he had seen anyone move in his life. She sat up to see him staring and arched a dark brow, but didn’t say a word. She only stretched and waited, relaxing until the rest of the tent woke. Odinson and Sylvan woke then, muttering to each other as Romanoff woke Parker.

Barton had to be kicked awake, and even then he had to be threatened multiple times by Odinson and then once by Romanoff for him to finally get up, grumbling and cursing.  
Tony wondered if they felt the same fear that he did, deep in his belly, curling like snakes, tendrils of cold darkness. If they did, they didn’t show it, not even Parker, the confirmed youngest of the squad. He simply got up like everyone else, dressed with military efficiency, and began to prepare for war.

  
Tony didn’t feel prepared, not in the slightest. He had experienced a day of little but half-hearted training and taunts, the soldiers seemingly more interested in kicking him while he was down than helping him up and teaching him how to survive. They had dragged him out to physical training where he had only just managed to match their speeds under the judgemental eye of Coulson, and then to a gym to be trained in hand to hand and to improve his stamina so he could storm alongside the others. He was exhausted within the hour, and every single one of his slights were picked on by the others, every failure a certainty of his death.

  
He had sat alone in the mess hall, sat alone in the alcove, and wondered if he was ever going to see Rhodey or Pep again. He wondered who would take over Stark Industries when he was gone- Obie, he assumed, and he wondered what would happen after he passed, having no children of his own. He supposed that could change. That was all, of course, assuming that Tony was killed come the morning, but he didn’t have the energy to be optimistic. He didn’t see the point.

  
All day, he had been looking for a way out. And he had found none.

  
And now he was being shipped out to France, where he knew he would die on one of the beaches. He supposed it was a good thing he hadn’t gotten any sleep- he had all night to think about how doomed he was.

  
He got out of bed with the others and dressed silently. Parker almost look perturbed at his lack of protests, but there wasn’t any point. He listened to Coulson rousing speech without a word, staring into nothingness the whole time as the fear threatened to swallow him whole.

  
Then in what seemed like no time at all, he was being pushed into one of his own creations- his Iron Man suit. It seemed only fitting he would die in one of those. He thought back to Coulson; you might call that notion ironic. He wondered if he was going to be sick.

  
The suits were kept in row, which would be guided into a ship once the team were all suited up. They were all perfect clones of each other, painted dark and nothing special, perfect for the military. The squad clambered in with practised efficiency, adjusting the necessary parts and checking the systems. They flexed their hands in the gauntlets, and only Parker still seemed impressed with the design, almost childlike as he smiled and crooned at what he called ‘his baby’. The helmet closed around them, but they flicked up the faceplates, chattering to each other as they geared up. Some had their chests bare of armour, strapping themselves with explosives instead. Clint did, opposite him. Romanoff watched him silently.

  
Sylvan checked him over before gearing up herself, and he was almost grateful to her. Barton mocked her relentlessly for it, asking if she was feeling motherly, but she flicked the V’s towards him and he fell quiet, but still grinned. She was silent as she worked, and Tony simply flicked down his face plate, trying to hide his expression from the others. He only hoped he remembered how to pilot one of these things- it had been years since he wore one last.

  
He gazed at the HUD, the little dots than consisted of his 'teammates'.

  
 _Greetings, sir._

  
Tony smiled, mirthlessly. “JARVIS.”

  
The AI said nothing more to him. He wouldn’t, unless prompted. He was one of the depersonalized versions, something they had made to market, and he was nothing like the AI he had at home in his mansion, but it was a little comfort. Sylvan moved on once satisfied the suit was fully functional, and he was left to his own thoughts until the order was given to move, and then he was in the ship, on the way to France.

  
“We lost Germany,” Coulson was calling out over the carrier’s engines. “We lost France. If we lose today, we won’t be able to fight another. I know there’s a huge pressure on every single one of you, but this victory is essential.” He paused. “Two minutes to drop.”

  
He may of well have said two minutes to death. The room was mostly still and silent, waiting for arrival, no doubt psyching themselves up and taking peace in the last moment of silence they would experience in a while, or for some, ever.

  
At least, it was until Clint started yapping.

  
“Oi.” He shouted out, and for a minute, Tony wasn’t aware he was being spoken to. “Hey, Stark. There’s something wrong with your suit.” He barely had time to frown before Clint elaborated with a shit eating grin. “Yeah. There’s a dead guy in it.”

  
A ripple of laughter went through the jet, and if Tony wasn’t strapped to the bar that ran across each of the suits, he would have tried to kick Clint directly in the nuts. And then Odinson too, when he chimed in, “Watch your back out there, Stark.”

  
“Cause no-one else will!” Barton crowed, and even Coulson had the kindness to look faintly disapproving.

  
 _One minute to drop,_ JARVIS said in his headset.

  
Tony breathed through his nose, trying not to panic, and when half the minute was up, it all went to waste. An alarm sounded throughout the jet and seconds later, the floor moved away, revealing a wide expanse of pale French sand. “Holy shit.” He yelped, safe in the knowledge that no one could hear him over the roar.

  
 _Thirty seconds to drop_.

Coulson was shouting again, and Tony was beginning to think the man would never shut up. “Stand by to deploy. Activate drop lines. Remember, I-”

  
The metal of the wall behind him gave way suddenly to a huge explosion without warning, uncomfortably close. Coulson surged forward, almost knocked off his feet, and screams of surprise went up around the carrier. Following explosions ripped through without mercy, fire swallowing half the jet, and Coulson barely had time to scramble to his feet before he was issuing more orders. “Drop!” He yelled over the wailing alarms, and half a second later, soldiers were dropping out of view, quicker than Tony could blink. “Drop! Drop!”

  
Explosions detonated below him even as people entered the battlefield, but some didn’t make it. He assumed Clint had made it safely- he snorted at that, despite everything- to the warzone, but the man beside him hadn’t been so lucky. He had been shot down before he even had the time to fall, falling out of the sky in a blaze of fire without even the time to scream. People kept dropping around him, one by one, before he and Coulson were the only ones left.

  
“Stark!” Coulson yelled, grabbing his attention. “Drop, or die!” Then, the Sergeant hit the button beside the armour, and he was gone too.

  
Left alone in the rattling, burning jet that he knew was going to go down at any second, Tony’s gasping breaths were overwhelmingly loud. JARVIS issued repeated orders to drop, warning of explosives too close for comfort and enemy targets close by, and Tony watched as the metal of the wall opposite was ripped away like tin foil. His heart switched residence from his chest to his throat, and he knew it was time to go.

  
He hit the same button, and the fall was immediate. He was pretty sure he was screaming, but the wind snatched the sound away. He spun, out of control, and he could only hope that he didn’t land and break both of his legs. That would be a fine way to spend his first ever day in combat, crawling in the muck. He fell for a long time, teammates probably screaming or whooping around him, explosions surrounding all of them. Tony didn’t understand that- the Chitauri weren’t supposed to know they were coming. How did they make it this far already?

  
That train of thought was cut abruptly short- he crashed to the floor. He found it hard to feel grateful that he retained use of his legs, and he slammed heavily to the floor and fell to the wet sand with a splash of seawater. He was glad for the faceplate.

  
Someone was cheering, not too far away. “We made it!” He was screaming, no doubt grinning like an idiot. Tony wasn’t sure there was much to celebrate. He crawled on all fours, feeling incredibly self-conscious despite the fact he knew people were preoccupied with much greater things, and wobbled when he finally got on his feet. Aforementioned idiot was still shouting out, and Tony turned to tell him to shut the fuck up and move on, when a great hunk of machinery fell from the sky and squashed him flat.

  
It nearly knocked Tony off of his feet, but he staggered backwards, almost blinded by the sand the crash threw up. He threw up his arms just in time, but choked. He waited it out, until it settled, and he knew there was nothing he could do. He felt sick, and supressed the urge to fall to his knees and vomit.

  
People ignored him or simply didn’t see him and kept streaming in one direction, storming down to the fight. Tony supposed he could do nothing but join them, having no other choice, and on unsteady legs he slowly made his way down. Soldiers were being brought down around him, picked off one by one. An artillery struck a soldier, disturbingly close to Tony’s left, and he moved as fast as he could, hyperaware of JARVIS’s comments in his headset, warning for incoming, feeding him information on the bulk of enemies he was heading towards. He didn’t know how long he moved for, but he forced himself to keep going, unsteady footed and fearful, ignoring the way bodies were falling around him like dominoes.

  
Cries went up around him and the sounds of engines working overtime reached his ears- a carrier jet sailed overhead, sinking in the sky, and crashed to the ground not too far away. He didn’t want to think about the people it may have landed on.

  
He planned to move past, maybe find someone friendly to team up with or somewhere to cower until it all died down, but before he could stumbled past the ship, ominous creaking and groaning came from within. Tony stopped and listened, frowning, and wondering if he should help.

  
Before he could decide, the door exploded outwards and a body emerged, no doubt having kicked the door down. The figure was huge and hulking, and a fearsome sight- the Iron Man suit had been painted black, rather than the uniformed grey everyone else wore, and the bicep was painted with a small symbol, too far away to see closely, but blue, red and white. SHIELD soldiers, Tony thought, and watched dumbly as a small group of surviving soldiers streamed out, seemingly not wounded. Their leader, he assumed, checked on them all as they joined the fray, testing their footing on the slick sand.

  
“Is this all of us?” He called out, voice just as deep as Tony expected for a man his size.

  
“Yes, Captain.” Another said, and he had the exact same symbol painted in the exact same place. Tony noted that they all had, clearly some kind of special group.

  
“Alright. Move out, and quickly.”

  
The soldiers obeyed the order without question, and they moved in uniformity. They stuck in pairs, watching each other’s back. From what little Tony had seen, they worked as a good team- better than J squad, anyway. He wondered how they were doing, and if any of his ‘friends’ had survived the landing.

  
“Captain Rogers!” A regular soldier called out, and the leader froze. “Enemies inbound.”

  
Rogers lifted a gauntlet immediately, and his palm began to glow as he fired up the repulsors. His hand went to his hip, where he drew what may have been a sword or a baton. Tony immediately staggered back, currently wanting to avoid close quarters combat if he could. “Team!” He shouted, drawing their attention, and when the Chitauri arrived, they were battle ready.

  
They crawled over the wreckage of the ship, humanoid forms with alien faces, as they hissed like snakes as their claws dug into metal too easily. Tony wondered what their claws could do to bone, and quickly decided that he didn’t want to find out. The SHIELD soldiers, however, had no such fear, and they immediately shot at the enemy. Quicker than any creature Tony had ever seen, the Chitauri leapt from the ship and lashed out, and a few of the regular army soldiers went down with wails of fear. Rogers stormed forward, freeing one with a single blow, and spun on his heel, ready for his next victim. He fought without hesitation, killing as many as he could as quickly as possible, and he made surprisingly short work of his foes.

  
But he didn’t see the sole survivor creeping up behind him.

  
“Behind you!” Tony shouted out, and every soldier spun around, ready for attack. Rogers did the same, and barely managed to deflect the Chitauri’s hit in time with the hilt of his weapon. Lifting his leg he delivered a swift kick to the creature’s stomach, sending it down to the ground, and one of his companions lifted their gauntlet and shot it, killing it instantly. It was over as quickly as it began.

  
The other soldiers immediately moved on, following the Captain’s previous orders, but Rogers lingered, turning his head and surveying the area, as if searching. Tony took a step forward, and the soldier’s head stopped on him. He stared for a brief moment, even as his soldiers sprinted away and precious time began to run out, and then he reached up, lifting his face plate and pulling it free.

  
Tony’s breath caught for just a second. Fierce blue eyes he had seen before on a London bus stared at him, and the embodiment of a perfect soldier looked at him, eyeing him up and down, and Tony wondered if he was grateful. Captain Rogers, famed hero of Verdun looked down at him, expression blank, breathing surprisingly lightly for someone who stormed a group of enemies and brought them down in no time at all. He tilted his head to one side, inquisitively, and opened his mouth to speak.

  
The explosion that came from behind him, caused by god only knew what tore the wreckage apart, and threw him completely off his feet. So close, the armour couldn’t do a thing to help him. Rogers landed heavily, thrown forward to just in front of Tony’s feet, and he didn’t get up again. His soldiers didn’t even know he was gone.

  
“Jesus!” Tony swore, stepping back. He had just about seen enough death for one day, and he knew he was going to be seeing a hell of a lot more. He stared down at Rogers’ corpse, those eyes staring blankly up at the sky, and a minute later Tony was staring down at a puddle of his own vomit. He had wandered away, blindly and on weak feet, and he didn’t know how far he had wondered. The long stretch of beach was all the same to him now.

  
A soldier barged past him, their shoulders slamming together. Tony grunted at the surprise force, jerking forward. The soldier turned to shoot him a glance, face plate turned up- and a familiar face beamed brightly at him.

  
“Private Stark!” Coulson called out, sounding awfully smug. He was covered in blood, seemingly human but not his, and he didn’t seem particularly bothered by that fact. “What a surprise.” He reached out, grabbing at a curving edge of Tony’s armour, and yanked him forward. “How good of you join us.” He dragged him away, to a group of other soldiers with roughed up armour, scratches and gouges, but they all seemed to be fighting fit. They were huddled in a small pit, crouched down low, ready for anything. Coulson shoved Tony down a small slope, into the middle of their loose circle with no ceremony, and no one reacted to his presence. He assumed they all had bigger things to worry about than mocking him. He counted four others, all with face plates closed- if it were J squad, they were short one soldier. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that- they were assholes, but he didn’t want them dead.

  
Sylvan’s voice called out to her Sergeant, her tone clipped short as if with irritation. “I thought they weren’t supposed to know we were coming. I don’t understand.”

  
One of the soldiers face plates lifted, and Romanoff’s snarling face was revealed. “This is a slaughterhouse,” She said, sticking to the truth. “This is a mess.”

  
“Get in line.” Coulson said, tersely, and the soldiers all obeyed. Tony followed orders, with hesitation, and Romanoff simply nodded at him, somewhat respectfully. “Stand your ground.”

  
Enemies approaching, JARVIS warned, as polite and casual as someone announcing the weather forecast, and Tony watched his HUD carefully. He saw blinking red dots, five hundred meters away, and they were closing in on their location quickly.

  
“Take position! Eyes forward!” Coulson stood fast at the front, palms glowing. Sylvan and another soldier took point beside him, the woman with a unfriendly expression as if she hoped to scare the enemy away- to be fair to her, Tony guessed it would have worked on a majority of human beings- and Romanoff stood at Tony’s side. The other soldier stood in-between the two groups, and turned his head to speak to Tony even as Coulson called out warnings and orders.

  
“I’ve surprised you’ve made it this far, Stark.” Barton told him, and he sounded almost impressed. Then, he turned back, and steadied himself for the attack.

  
Tony’s HUD was lighting up, targets appearing on the horizon, almost a dozen coming out of nowhere. The three at the front took shots first, and two targets flickered out. He waited until they ventured closer, taking in deep breaths and waiting for ugly heads to pop over the slope before taking a shot.

  
It hit, and a Chitauri corpse tumbled down the hill, long and uneven limbs flopping everywhere like a ragdoll. Barton and Romanoff took their shots and also hit, although Barton’s target survived a little longer, wailing and clawing at its ruined chest. There were five already down, and it almost gave him hope.

  
But then one of the Chitauri screamed and leapt, flying directly for Coulson’s face. He struggled, fighting with all he had, but there was a sudden spray of blood and he convulsed, choking. The Chitauri dropped him ungracefully, before moving on to its next attempted target- Sylvan, who brought it down with a furious scream. The soldier with her missed his target, and backed up, aiming again as soon as he could. Missing again, he swore, and Sylvan took his target for him, blasting off the creature’s spitting head. Coulson had hit the floor between them, and barely moved. The sand was quickly stained red. Romanoff missed her shot while Barton and Tony took theirs, bringing down another two.

  
Two remained, and one lunged for Sylvan, who lashed out in defence, but staggered back, losing her footing. The creature clawed at her, and she screamed, tumbling to the floor. Tony could see her face was slick with blood, and he wondered if she had been blinded.

  
He had no time to be concerned with that. Panicked, Barton and Romanoff missed both shots and the creature’s descended- but the sand shifted underneath Tony’s feet, making him wobble, and he looked down to see an unfriendly face emerging from the sand. Freaked out, he leapt backwards. “Hey!” He called out in warning, and Barton only had the chance to stare at him, brows furrowed with confusion, before hands clawed at his ankle, and yanked him off his feet.

  
He went down heavily, hitting his head against the sand and the Chitauri seemed to spasm, rearing out of the ground and dragging claws down Barton’s side, cutting through the armour like it was nothing. He cried out in pain, and Romanoff howled a denial, bringing her fist down on the creature’s head. She shot it for good measure, but in the throes of death it lashed out once more, piercing Barton’s throat with its clawed hands and tossing him to one side. It fell, finally dead.

  
But there was no reprieve- in the madness, they had forgotten the other, and before either had a chance to react, the Chitauri descended and hauled Romanoff away, hands coming around her throat, either preparing to choke or snap the bone. She struggled, and put up an impressive fight, but the repulsor blast that killed the creature came a split second after a sickening snap.

  
Tony had barely time to react before it happened again.

  
“Stark!” Sylvan cried out, voice desperate, but her cry was cut short with a terrible sound, like something wet being slapped across a stone wall. Tony turned, holding up his palm and ready to aim, but it was too late. The other soldier had been killed while he had been preoccupied with Romanoff, and Sylvan was choking on her own blood, twitching, and it was only a matter of time before she was still. The Chitauri that stood over her, body wet with blood turned to him, the last survivor of its group, and before it could even think about attacking he shot it through the chest. It wailed and swiped at him, but caught only air, and it collapsed on him, a heavy burden.

  
He kicked out desperately, kicking the corpse away, splashing in the puddles. He was laughing hysterically, choking on his breath, and he felt sick to his stomach. He may have been shaking, trembling in the armour, and he thought he may have thrown up from the overpowering stench of blood. He couldn’t be sure. He was alive, and for the first time in a while, he truly felt it.

  
Rolling onto his back, Tony looked around. Struggling to calm himself, arse firmly planted on the ground, he saw the others. The soldier at the front was face down alongside Sylvan, both unmoving directly across from him. Their suits were ruined beyond repair, better to scrap it and start again, sparking uselessly. He didn’t want to think about what the human bodies looked like underneath, or who the second soldier was. Coulson lay at his feet, and he could see his face, slick with filth and blood. He couldn’t see Romanoff, but he knew she was dead too, likely flung over the mound somewhere, one causality among no doubt thousands of others. Explosions ripped up the ground, ceaseless, and he wondered exactly how many of the screams he could hear had been cut short.

  
He couldn’t lay here forever, he knew. And he hardly wanted to remain among the dead, with their accusing eyes. He took in a breath, steadying himself for a second longer. He needed the moment to himself. His thigh muscles were killing him with all his panicked running, and the weight on his shoulders was not a comfortable one.

  
Tony readied himself to move, and then dirt from the heaping mound to his left shifted, sprinkling over his head. _What now,_ he wondered, agitated and irritated, and he looked up.

  
Before his eyes, there was a blur of blue, and a Chitauri almost triple the size of any of the others darted in front of him, conveniently blocking any escape. It shone silver and sapphire rather than silver and orange like the others, and Tony might have thought it beautiful if it wasn’t coming to kill him. Humanoid in shape, it still crawled like an animal, jerking and snarling like something out of his weirdest nightmares. Its eyes fell on him, and it only growled louder and Tony wondered if the sound made the Earth shake or if it was just the falling bombs. The huge creature prowled forward, and it hurt his eyes to look at- it shimmered like a jewel, but pulsed and shifted like a computer glitch, and Tony’s mouth was bone dry, and his stomach was bottomless.

  
He lifted one hand in survival instinct, powering up the repulsors even though he knew damn well it wasn’t going to do shit against a monster that size. He scrambled backwards until his back hit the dirt mound- he could go no further. The Chitauri advanced, unopposed.

  
Half hoping that someone would come to his rescue but knowing it wouldn’t be so, Tony swallowed his fear, turning his heart to stone. He steadied himself, splaying one had to the side- and his gauntlets met something smooth and hard, thudding against some metal cover. He glanced at it, and found Barton, dead eyed and empty sprawled by his side. His hand had fallen on the explosive device he had seen him tape to his chest earlier, ripped free and loosely embraced in Barton’s arms. He hadn’t the chance to use it.  
An idea bloomed, and it was comforting- even when faced with almost immediate death, he was still having ideas. Hearing the Chitauri squelch in the mud, he tore the device free and clutched it to his chest like a child with a favoured toy. Breathing heavily with wide eyes, surrounded by death, he began to count down in his mind. He tried not to think about what all this meant, dying alone and afraid in the muck, a far cry from what he used to be, and he tried not think about Rhodey and Pep-

  
The creature roared and lunged forward, and Tony enthusiastically greeted it with an explosive and a repulsor blast, shoving it firmly into its chest.

  
The Chitauri shrieked with mindless rage even as it’s chest collapsed, falling apart, and blood splattered across Tony’s clothes and skin. The blood was ice cool rather than heated like he expected, and it was so alien, so bitingly cold against his skin that he screamed. It only splattered across his cheeks, into his eyes and mouth, and it burnt and hissed like corrosive acid. He wailed at the pain, thrashing and shaking, the fire scalding his skin and making it curl like paper set aflame, falling apart.

  
Tony clung to agonizing life just a moment longer, and he didn’t understand why, the explosion should have taken them both, surely- and then he jolted wide awake, still screaming.

  
His hands came up to shield his face, far too late, and he was quaking. He screamed at the pain and horror- and then froze.

  
Gentle warmth heated his cheeks, and he no longer felt restricted by the cold embrace of the armour. He was seated on something firm, and he was blessedly dry. His clothes weren’t damp with the blood and seawater, and he felt no pain. The sounds of the dying and the terrified were also gone- replaced with jeering cries and laughter, familiar commands being shouted across. Compared to what he had seen, what he had experienced, this sudden shift was heaven.

  
Pulling his hands away, noting the cuffs clamped tightly around his wrists, he stared owl eyed back at his surroundings, his heart rate slowly settling. He was sitting on the bags again, and he watched as soldiers jogged by for physical training, led by their commander. A London bus drove past, the same dark blue eyes of Rogers staring down at Tony from the poster, and the Heathrow sign gleamed under the sun.

  
Confusion made Tony’s head spin.

  
“On your feet, asshole!” A voice called from behind him, and it still caught him off guard. He rolled off the bags quickly, getting to his feet without stumbling, and the soldier didn’t kick the bags. He still had the same rotten attitude however, and when Tony didn’t respond, he growled, “Need me to bust your hole with my boot heel, asshole?”

  
He stared, fully aware of how much of an idiot he looked. He stumbled over his words for several long moments, completely lost. “I… I’m not…”

  
“Excuse me,” A familiar voice rang out, and the confusion was only amplified. Both he and the soldier turned to stare as Coulson approached, just as small as Tony remembered outside of the armour, with the same easy smile and defining wrinkles. “Can I help you, son.”

“I… I don’t understand?”

  
Coulson arched a brow. “What don’t you understand?”

  
He shook his head, disbelieving, and he had no idea where to start. _What the hell just happened? Was that a dream?_ “Sergeant Coulson?”

  
His eyebrows only raised further, at serious threat of disappearing into his receding hairline. “That’s my name and rank, yes.” He paused, pressing his lips together firmly. “Alright. I think I get it.” He leant in, almost conversationally, as if trying to share a secret. “What was it? Poker night? Bachelor party?”

  
 _Sleep with someone influential’s daughter?_ Tony’s mind supplied, half fascinated and dreading to hear what Coulson said next.

  
“Sleep with someone influential’s daughter?”

  
“…I don’t know.” Tony said, honestly, flexing his hands in the cuffs. They were uncomfortable against the skin of his wrists, and the sharp bite was telling him that this was reality, that it wasn’t a dream of some sort. But the pain was just as sharp as it was the last time he and Coulson had met.

  
This time, Coulson seemed genuinely a little sympathetic in the face of his quiet confusion. Tony wondered how many people like him followed a similar path after taking part in those poker nights, those bachelor parties. “It happens. Don’t worry. I’ll sort you out.” He dismissed the other soldier again with the exact same words, the exact same tone, and something uncomfortable and heavy sat in Tony’s stomach. He guided Tony along with one hand, back through the space, across the tarmac, and he lost himself in the sounds of combat boots thudding across the floor, the shouting, the engines.

  
“What day is it?” Tony asked, eyeing everything with a feeling of wonder. He had aimed to make his tone innocent, conversational, but judging by the look on Coulson’s face, it wasn’t successful.

  
Coulson regained that smile, the one with the hard edge, and patted his pocket where the papers labelling Tony a deserter waited. “For you? Judgement day.”

  
Tony cast his mind back to the beach, if he had ever been there, back to when he laughed and cried in the sand with the dead around him. Back then, he thought he had gone mad- and now, he almost certainly had.


	2. again and again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony wakes up in the same day, and tried to figure out just what the hell is going on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are some warnings for violence, at the end chapter notes to avoid spoilers.

Somehow in all of this madness, Tony already knew that Coulson had a habit of droning on, talking incessantly even if the people around him didn’t want to listen, and so he was left to his own thoughts as they briskly walked through the row of tents, teeming with soldiers. He had seen it all before, exactly the same. He was sure the same people were passing him by, Coulson was leading him to the same place, to the same soldiers. His mind worked overdrive, simply to figure out what the fuck was happening. He tried to rationalize it all to himself, that it had to be a dream. It had to be. What else would have caused him to relive the same day?

He kept somewhat focused on the Sergeant, listening vaguely, but he had heard all of these words before, about Tony being a deserter, all high and mighty, about all the blood he would bleed come tomorrow morning, and he was too busy wondering _how, how was this possible?_

“We’re all human, after all.” Coulson said, almost proudly, and Tony murmured softly along with him, “Especially in battle.”

Coulson stopped dead, and Tony noted with a sideways glance that they were outside tent C, where J squad waited inside. He cocked his head to one side, and looked genuinely caught off guard. “Did you just interrupt your superior, Private?”

Utter bewilderment and complete incomprehension made him modest. “I’m sorry, Sergeant.” He fumbled, still glancing around, taking in the sights, reliving what he had already witnessed. “I’m sorry, but,” He huffed out an exhale, shaking his head. “I don’t think you’re going to believe what I’m about to tell you-”

Coulson waved his words away with a sharp gesture. “No, I’m not. I don’t want to hear any of your lies, soldier. They told me you’re a slippery one, you’d do anything to get out of active duty.” He reached out, grabbing Tony by a bicep and hauled him forwards, pushing him through the flap of the tent. This time, he was more prepared for the smell of soldiers post-workout, but he still pulled a face at the assault on his nostrils. “I’m prepared for you, and I don’t want to hear anything you have to tell me.”

Everyone stared as he passed, conversation sparking up around him, no doubt to do with the cuffs and the suit and the fact that this was Tony Stark, being marched down to the farthest reaches of the tent by the Sergeant. Listening intently, he could already hear the music from J squads section, the loud boom of Odinson’s laughter. Coulson still talked into his ear, but this time, he didn’t hear a word. He felt misplaced, like there had been some epic fuck up in the structure of the universe and he half expected he was going to be plucked out by whoever designed it with hasty apologies and popped back in his rightful place, among the dead.

“Squad,” Coulson finally left him to call out to his team, and they were all there, each and every one of them- Barton, Romanov, Odinson, Sylvan, Parker. He had seen them all die, in brutal ways, but they stood there seemingly in perfect health and eyeing him suspiciously, like they had never met him before in their lives. “Stark, this is J squad.”

Tony watched dumbly as the entire scene played out, word for word, from the introduction to Parker’s outburst, to the discovery of the gambling to the eating of the cards. He was probably catching flies with his open mouth, and was hardly making a good impression, but he hadn’t exactly made a good impression last time. He thought about that, _last time,_ the mystery of it all, and it sent a chill up his spine. He murmured their lines along with them like they were actors in a movie he had watched hundreds of times, distantly, finding them accurate word for word.

He thought he needed to sit down, sort his thoughts out, and as soon as Coulson left him to J squad’s mercy, he did. He didn’t say a word to any of them, even when they insulted him, tried to make him rise to the bait. He went along willingly with physical training, practised hand to hand combat alone, and ate alone. He knew he could have used that time as a second chance, another moment to escape, but they still watched him like hawks, and frankly, he was too thrown by everything that had happened over the past day- days?- to make a concentrated effort.

Nothing made sense.

Maybe, just maybe, he would wake up tomorrow and some deity would realize their mistake and fix it. When night finally fell and it was time for lights out, it took him hours to fall asleep and he prayed that by the time he woke up, if he woke up, the world would all make sense again.

-

By the time they were two minutes from drop over France again, he finally admitted to himself that wasn’t the case, and he wasn’t going to be helped out of his rut, by anyone or anything. He felt like a fool for thinking otherwise.

He had woken up the next morning still in his bunk, tentatively being prodded awake by Parker. He hadn’t the chance to check if everything was the same, if Romanov still awoke at five and Barton had to be cajoled into getting up, but he could comfortably assume it was exactly the same. They all exchanged glances, a little freaked out at his solemn silence, and even Barton didn’t seem to put effort in his weak jibes. They all dressed, the suited up, and stood in silence in the jet carrier. Clint was opposite him once again, with the same explosive taped to his chest. Tony hoped he wouldn’t have to use it again.

Coulson was addressing the soldiers again, walking the tiny path between them, the exact same encouragement from what might have been yesterday. He went mostly ignored by Tony, who took deep, calming breaths, let himself relax before he had to fight for his life once more.

“Oi,” Clint called out to him, and Tony had almost had the peace of forgetting his existence. “Hey, Stark. There’s something wrong with your suit.” The same grin. “Yeah. There’s a dead guy in it.”

“What your back out there, Stark.” Odinson added, and Tony said, utterly deadpan amongst their crowing, “No one else will.”

Odinson immediately looked a little startled, but Clint laughed it off. “Well, he’s an ass, but at least he knows his place now.” He was still chortling when the alarm rang out, and the floor moved away, and there was nothing between them and a long stretch of air. JARVIS chimed in with _thirty seconds to drop,_ and Coulson called, “Stand by to deploy. Remember I-“

Then, Tony remembered.

“Hey!” He screamed, attempting to jerk forward, but restrained by the suit. He couldn’t believe it had slipped his mind. “Coulson, get-”

The explosion he had forgotten rocked the jet once more, and Coulson stumbled forward, blown off his feet. He righted himself quickly, with wide eyes, and shouted for them to deploy. Even as it set off the further chain of explosions, he kept standing, watching his soldiers drop to the battlefield. Clint dropped immediately, as did Odinson, but the same soldier from before was immediately shot out of the sky. Tony was one of the last to drop, again, but braced himself for the long fall before he deployed.

He landed with no real grace, but righted himself quickly, racking his memory for what happened next. There was something, he knew, a death that he could prevent-

There was cheering from a short distance, the same moron deciding to celebrate rather than move his ass, and Tony turned to him, waving his arms in an attempt to grab his attention.

“Behind you!” He yelled, as loud as his lungs would permit over the sound of explosions and engines, and the soldier stopped mid cheer, no doubt giving him an inquisitive look. The ship that would kill him in mere seconds was coming in quickly, billowing smoke and flame, and idiot that the stranger was, he turned to gawk up at it- and he was crushed, again.

Tony swore to himself, loudly and colourfully, but there was little he could do. He forced himself to move on, striding quickly along the sands, being careful to tread the same path to avoid explosives. That dead idiot hadn’t listened, but he had someone else to warn.

In less than a minute, Captain Rogers was kicking down the door with all his impressive might again, and then all his soldiers were streaming out, pairing up again. Rogers stuck with his buddy, shouting orders to move, and then the Chitauri arrived once more. The sight of them made Tony sick, recalling the smell of fresh blood and the pulsing way they moved, and he stayed a careful distance as Roger’s team took them out. He waited until the Captain freed one of his soldiers, waited until the Chitauri was creeping up, and then called his warning, “Behind you!”

Rogers spun on his heel, immediately on the defence and battled with the creature that had failed twice to kill him now. It just wasn’t that Chitauri’s day, but Tony had limited sympathy for them now. His friend delivered the killing blow and moved on without awaiting further orders, and Rogers spotted Tony, staring him down.

He removed his faceplate and those vivid eyes were back in full force, gold brows furrowing deeply, but before Tony could lose himself in just how pretty the man was he ran forward, full pelt, and tackled him, bringing him down hard on the ground before the explosion could end his life.

Rogers had tensed up and he spluttered, struggling under Tony’s weight, but when the explosion rocked the world around them he stilled, sucking in a harsh breath. Balanced on top, Tony took the majority of the hit, and grunted at a blunt force and then a sharp pain at his side. He kept the Captain down, waiting to see if there were any more surprises that wanted to ruin his day, and then tentatively rolled off, letting his superior free.

He sat up immediately, taking in the sight of the wreckage, and the place where he had once stood, now aflame. Tony stayed flat on his back, gasping for breath.

“You saved me,” Rogers huffed out a tiny, endearing laugh. “That’s twice now, soldier. I think I owe you.”

“That’s great,” Tony said, only a little sarcastic. “I could use a favour in this situation.”

The Captain shifted, bringing his knees underneath him, and he looked down at Tony, smiling. It was an honest smile, attractive, with little dimples in his cheeks- but it disappeared too quickly, falling away. “Soldier?”

He sounded panicked, and the Captain leant over him, hands hovering over his belly as if afraid to touch. A fine line appeared across his forehead and his brows knit together. Tony frowned up at him. “What’s the matter with you?”

“Can’t you feel it?” Rogers was frowning deeply, fingers flying to his side, the small part of him that wasn’t completely protected by the armour. His fingers pressed lightly at the flesh, and it stung a little, like water in a scraped wound. His gloves were dark grey, but they came away black, stained dark with-

“Oh, that’s my blood.” Tony said airily, looking down at the huge shard of metal piercing his side. “That’s a lot of my blood.” He couldn’t feel a thing, not yet, but he knew he would be feeling, at best, fairly uncomfortable soon. He didn’t know how deep it went inside him, and he didn’t even want to think about the possibilities. He was already feeling dizzy, a kind of heavy thickness in his head, and he didn’t want to move a muscle. He reached down, curling his hand around the intrusion, but the Captain slapped his hand away.

“Don’t touch that!” He scolded. “Don’t move.” He tore his eyes away, looking around as if for help, and Tony couldn’t help but scoff. It was hardly as if a trained medical professional was going to float down from the sky and heal him with a single touch. Rogers’ teeth sank into his lower lip, agitating it, and he swore softly to himself. Tony’s hand was quaking, now, and he was beginning to panic.

“Goddamnit,” He swore, gritting his teeth against the burn that was creeping up on him. He blinked back tears of frustration. “God fucking damnit.”

Rogers’ eyes dropped back down to his, and he tried to reassure him with a smile. It was a pathetic, watery thing. He needn’t have bothered. “Don’t worry. You’re gonna be alright.”

 _Bullshit,_ Tony wanted to say, but Rogers hushed him before he could speak. The man touched his cheek, an attempt at reassurance no doubt, but Tony could feel the wet warmth on his own blood on his gloves. It didn’t help him remain calm at all.

The blonde’s eyes were saddened, his mouth curved downwards, and he reached for his own waist even as his thumb smoothed a line across Tony’s cheekbones. “What’s your name, soldier?”

“Does that matter right now?”

“What’s your name?” He pressed.

Tony grunted as he shifted, and stabbing pain erupted in his flank. He elected to remain as still as possible, and wondered what the hell he was going to do next. He wasn’t getting out of there, that was for sure, unless the good Captain wanted to carry him to wherever the hell the nearest doctor was. “I’m Tony.” He admitted, unwillingly.

“Alright.” There was a beat, as Rogers gazed down at him. If Tony was honest, it was a little awkward.

“I’m sorry, Tony.” Rogers eventually said, his tone painfully earnest just before his hand lashed out, a flash of silver as quick as a snake, and he cut Tony’s throat with the blade he hadn’t seen had grab.

The bite was freezing cold, like the Chitauri’s blood that burnt his face like ice, and he jerked and gagged, body going into spasms. Rogers pulled away, practically moved closer in order to comfort him in death, even with all the blood. “I’m sorry,” He said, almost cradling him. “I’m sorry.”

The Captain hushed him again, softly, murmuring gentle phrases like _it’s alright_ and _don’t worry,_ repeating them like a mantraas Tony bled out, choking, and Tony wondered if he saw tears in the corner of blue eyes as everything slowly faded to black.

Then, he jerked awake on a pile of bags to the sounds of shouting and an unfamiliar language over the loudspeaker.

He sat in stunned silence for a long moment, thinking, _that just happened,_ before he furiously kicked out at nothing in a tantrum. “Motherfucker.” Tony spat. He still had no idea what was going on, he was back at Heathrow airport yet again, and that motherfucker had killed him. It was a mercy killing, granted, but that wasn’t the point. He turned where he lay, glaring into the eyes of perfect poster boy Rogers as it drove by.

“On your feet, asshole!” A familiar voice growled, and Tony had had enough of this bullshit to last him an entire lifetime. He was on his feet in a moment, and paid the soldier no heed, casting his eyes around, searching for the Sergeant. He found him in seconds, heading his way and deep in conversation with another soldier, having yet to notice him.

He strode forward, ignoring the soldier’s loud and furious protests, and called out, “Sergeant Coulson!”

The man looked up, jerked out of his conversation mid-sentence, and he didn’t look best pleased. He looked distinctly unhappier when he looked Tony up and down, recognising him immediately. His upper lip even curled in distaste. “Can I help-”

He didn’t care for what Coulson had to repeat, not anymore, and he interrupted without apology. “I need to speak to one of your superiors, anyone, I don’t care. I need to make a call. I was at a poker night, bachelor party, a strip club, I slept with some rich asshole’s daughter, whatever.” He took a brief pause for breath, gesturing wildly at Coulson’s pocket until he could recover. He was fully aware that he was making a scene- he was being stared at by everyone who passed by, with varying expressions of confusion. “You have orders in your pocket, right there, declaring me a deserter, yeah?”

Coulson looked suspicious. “I do.” He said, slowly.

“Okay, great, fine. I know that, and I know that your name is Sergeant Coulson, you hate being interrupted, and I’m sorry I’ve interrupted you multiple times and everything but this is important, and you lead J squad, you hate gambling, and you’ve been assigned to make sure I fight on the first wave tomorrow.” Tony was running out of breath again, and was painfully aware of people stopping and staring around him, and the way Coulson grew increasingly perturbed. “I’m sorry about this, sir, but if you could just give me thirty seconds to explain-“

This time, Coulson cut across him. “Explain what, exactly?”

Tony took a moment to compose himself, knowing that he must have looked a state. To convince anyone of whatever the hell was happening to him, he needed to appear completely sane. And what a wonderful start he was off to. “I know this is gonna sound crazy,” He began. “But if you listen to me, and listen good, you might just save the lives of everyone on this base right now.”

Coulson exchanged a doubtful look with his companion, and both of them stared at him like he was foaming at the mouth, but the Sergeant nodded, graciously.

“I’ll hear you out.” He said, surprisingly fairly, and Tony almost sagged with relief.

“Thank you.” He felt just about ready to cry. “Thank you, you have no idea what I’ve been through.”

“You’re right, I don’t. But if it’s got you acting all jittery and crazy like this, it must have not been a good poker night. Or bachelor party. Or whatever it was you just said, a million miles per hour.” Coulson shook his head, and crossed his arms. “Out with it, son.”

Tony licked his lips, slowly. “This is going to sound completely insane, but I swear to you-”

“Out with it.”

He took in a deep breath, and then began. “I’ve lived this day before, a couple of times. Tomorrow, I die in the fight, I keep dying, and every time I do, I wake up here and it starts all over again. You die, too. We all do, but none of you remember it. It’s only me.”

Several heartbeats passed in silence. He had gathered a modest crowd since he began, all of them peering at him like an exotic creature behind bars, and while they had muttered to themselves at first they were now deathly silent. Time ticked by for unbearably long, without a single word, and the soldiers all waited for Coulson’s reaction.

Tony braced himself mentally for any reaction, anything from downright refusal to listen, to stunned lengthy silences, to horror, even to hysterical tears, but he didn’t bet on Coulson drawing back and punching him directly in the face, with a surprising and impressive amount of force. It hit him like a sack of wet concrete, and he went down like one, collapsing to the floor.

Coulson had given the soldier’s guidance on how to react, and they burst into peals of laughter, and when Tony pushed himself up on one arm, clutching his nose that burnt and ached, he thought he saw some soldiers clutching their sides, even slapping their knees. Some of the cheered for the Sergeant, calling out for him to hit him again, to teach him a lesson.

Coulson reached down, and Tony thought he was, that he was going to make an example of him in front of all the others, but instead he grabbed at Tony’s tie, wrapping it around his fist and dragging him up to his level. Tony went along with it, unwilling to choke. “Really, Stark?” Coulson hissed, getting right up into his face, only inches away. “Of all the little charades you could have tried to pull, you think up this bullshit? Do you really think I’m that stupid?”

“No!” Tony protested, lifting his hands in submission, aiming to placate him. “Never, I swear-”

Coulson hauled him to his feet, and the soldiers jeered as Tony was shoved to one side, almost tripping. “Grab him.” Coulson said, and two soldiers materialized on either side of him. Their hands clamped down like vices on his biceps, and fear made Tony freeze up. “Take him to the tent.”

“No!” He shouted again, trying to surge forward and break free of their grasps, but it was useless. “No, you need to listen to me, you’re all going to die tomorrow-”

“If he doesn’t shut up, you have my full permission to do anything necessary.” Coulson said, darkly, and when Tony swore, kicking out, flailing like a dying fish, another one of the soldiers planted their fist into his stomach. Winded, he doubled over and coughed, gasping for breath. They gave him no time to recover, and shoved through the crowd, pulling him along.

He was dragged all the way to the tent, and as soon as he was capable of words again he began to argue once more, pleading with anyone who so much as looked his way to listen. The crowd mostly dispersed with a few sharp words from the Sergeant, but some still followed at a distance, laughing and pointing, nudging their friends and gawking at him, like he was something less than human. “Take him in.” Someone said, and Tony was viciously pushed through the tent flap.

“No- listen to me, listen, I swear-” Another hand shoved him down, and he almost lost his balance as he was forced down the line. Voices were being raised around him, sounds of befuddlement and interest, and they continued even as Coulson venomously told them to get back to their duties. “Listen, just listen-”

“We don’t have to listen to a damn word.” One of the soldiers who guided him growled at him, advancing on him, forcing him back.

“They’re waiting for us, they know we’re coming, just listen for fuck’s sake-”

 “Squad,” Coulson greeted them, and instead of sounding cheerful he sounded like he was holding back, keeping a lid on his rage. He looked around at them all, eyes dark with irritation rather than light with pride, but Tony stepped forward before he could speak, taking centre stage.

“This is J squad, right?” He called out loudly, so everyone could hear. “Right?”

Coulson’s jaw ticked under his skin, and he looked just about ready to clock him again. “That’s correct-”

“Not that I could have known that!” Tony said, gleefully, and he spun to gesture towards the group as a whole. They were all standing alertly, as they always were, but they each stared at him with a confused curiosity, rather than edgy paranoia. “Have any of you met me before?”

None of them seemed willing to speak, but a small voice, Parker’s, spoke up in the corner. “Uh, I know you’re Tony Stark, but I’ve never had the, uh, pleasure, sir.”

“Exactly!” Tony pointed to him, shaking the cuffs in his face with enthusiasm, and Parker flinched away, eyes wide. “You don’t know me at all! I don’t know you, and I shouldn’t know you, but I do know you- if that makes any sense, at all.” Judging by the expressions on each of their faces, it didn’t. He turned back to Parker. “You, you’re Parker. You’re the quiet one, don’t really say that much.” He gestured towards Sylvan and Odinson, who stood closely together. “You’re Odinson, and you’re Sylvan, and to be honest, I don’t know a damn thing about either of you.” Moving swiftly on to Barton, he said, “You’re Barton, and you’re an asshole.” Titters went up around the room, quiet and almost reluctant as Barton arched a brow, then cracked his knuckles, the joints popping. “Yeah, I know, tough guy. You think you’re all that, going into battle with explosives strapped to your chest, but you’re piss scared of this wonderful soldier here, Romanoff, and rightly so. She gets up early in the morning and she has to threaten to break each of your bones one by one to get you up in the morning.” Tony clapped his hands together, as well as he could with the cuffs. “And, ladies and gents, if that’s not enough,” He pointed to the bed. “There’s a card game, there, under the sheet.”

Barton made an angry, aborted noise, but Tony ignored it in favour of flying around the room once more, spinning, almost making himself dizzy. He wracked his brain for more, anything that could prove to the lot of them that he wasn’t insane, he wasn’t a coward making it all up so he could get out of combat tomorrow, it was true and if they didn’t listen, they’d all be dead in less than twenty four hours. Coulson stepped forward and ripped the sheet up to check, and a ripple went through the entire squad, groaning faintly.

“Odinson was winning, with a flush.” Tony clicked his fingers, trying to straighten out all of those little thoughts buzzing around in his brain, clamouring for attention. It was like when he was in his workshop, all the ideas ready to take him in so many different directions, but they all ended in the same places- success, or failure. He cast his mind back to the last few loops, hunting for the most damning details. “It was spades- no, clubs!”

Odinson’s neck whipped around to him, and his expression mystified, and Sylvan’s mouth was hanging open, unabashedly. Even Natasha looked uncertain, and they all watched him like he was a magician executing a trick they knew wasn’t possible. Tony might have found it funny, once upon a time. Instead, he nodded at them, agreeing, that he knew it was impossible, and yet it was happening. Looking to Coulson, he delivered one last piece of indisputable evidence. “And you’re going to make them eat the cards. You hate gambling. You hate the idea that fate is out of the hands of human beings.” Tony looked him dead in the eyes. “Is that enough? Or do I need to go on?”

Coulson was a little like Fury, Tony thought. He had an excellent poker face, an almost flawless mask that fit almost perfectly over the original. But unlike him, he had a tell. At the corner of his mouth there was a twitch- tiny, almost unnoticeable, but Tony could tell that he had gotten under his skin.

He wasn’t graced with a reply, but Tony knew the final blow had been struck. He stood back, breathing heavily through his mouth- his nose still burnt, and he could taste blood on his upper lip- like he had run miles, taking the centre of J squad’s loose circle. Every eye was locked on him, and they stood in complete silence.

“I know this all sounds completely ridiculous, and what I’m about to say next is even worse. But it’s true, and you need to go with me on this one.” He swept his gaze over them all, looking at them as imploringly as possible. He doubted he was going to reach all of them, but even if he only won a few over, it was better than nothing. “You need to listen to me, very carefully. If not, you’ll be dead by this time tomorrow.”

He took a deep breath, and began.

-

Tony was screaming a mix of furious curses and hysterical warnings with the occasional dotted plea, his body straining against the cage of Iron Man and his mouth desperately working against duct tape.

“You have to listen to me!” was turned into ‘yuh buft lm buhdeguh!’ and other nonsense, and even Clint was shifting uneasily in front of him, actively avoiding his gaze. Frustration was building up within him and he struggled with all his might, twisting his lips against the makeshift gag. It was peeling free, but too slowly for his liking. Coulson, ever dutiful, was running through the same old speech and orders, never wandering from life’s script, even as he ignored the minor addition to the character list of a raving madman.

He couldn’t believe after everything, after he pulled out all the stops, the assholes still hadn’t listen to him.

“What is he saying?” Tony could hear Parker ask, in a very small voice. “What’s going on?”

No one responded, and no one dared to taunt him this time.

_Thirty seconds to drop._

The alarm began to sound and the floor moved away, and Tony worked double time, feeling like a rabbit with the way his face was twitching. Romanov had stuck it on good, and it clung to his beard, but he worked it gradually loose, to his triumph.

He allowed himself to mourn the lost hairs and to take a deep breath, before belting as loud as he could, in the voice he used to terrify anxious SI newbies for his own amusement, “The ship is about to ex-“

The following interruption blasted Coulson from behind and he stumbled, and without bothering to wait for orders Tony deployed, hoping he wouldn’t be shot out of the sky.

Tony wasn’t, to his gratitude. He hit the ground, ears greeted with intimately familiar noises, and this time he managed to land on his feet, almost like a professional. Knees hardly buckling, he immediately set off. The first thing on his agenda was to be King Idiot’s saviour.

He sprinted directly across the terrain, making a beeline for him and despising every celebratory noise that came from his mouth. The man hardly noticed him, lifting a clenched fist to the sky and even swivelling his hips, almost pelvic thrusting in triumph.

“You’re a fucking idiot,” Tony couldn’t resist screaming as he shoved him out of harm’s way, the shadow falling over him, but he barely managed to get through the curse before he himself was crushed, and he jolted back to awareness in dear old Heathrow.

 _Try again,_ his brain supplied helpfully, and he danced to Coulson’s increasingly familiar tune, not bothering to try to warn them before he was back on the scenic beaches of France.

He swore, he was never coming back if he ever escaped. If he could leave a Yelp review on a country, he would. He was Tony Stark, he’d make it work.

He didn’t let himself waste a single precious second after that, running as fast as he could and giving the Monarch of Morons a flying rugby tackle, sending them sprawling to the ground. He hadn’t done that since his college days, and he didn’t miss the sensation at all, even if it was a little satisfying to shut him up. Moron barely had a chance to protest before the ship that would have killed him struck the ground, mere feet behind them. He went very quiet, and very still.

As soon as the tremors subsided, Tony scrambled to his feet, and shot him a glare. “You’re welcome.” He spat, before shooting off, a foul tempered guardian angel. He ran, faster than he had ever moved before, desperate not to screw up again. He needed Rogers.

The door was kicked down, orders were issued, the Chitauri crawled across the smouldering wreck, “Behind you!” Tony warned, but then he wondered- why had he bothered to remain at a distance? For safety? He was better than that now, more prepared. He was on their level and could be an asset to Rogers’ team, impress him, and drag him away from the blast before it claimed him.

He quickly found out that he wasn’t on their level at all as the Chitauri rode him down to the ground, teeth firmly in his throat. He supposed it was best left to the professionals.

“On your feet, asshole!”

-

Roger’s barely had time to remove his faceplate before he was overwhelmed with an armful of determined and highly irate Tony Stark, and thrown straight to the floor. Tony distantly wondered what the man thought as Tony grabbed him, arms wrapping around his torso and rolled, as far away from the danger as he could. But, frankly, three whole time loops later, he didn’t much care.

Rogers’ struggled for only a fraction of a second as Tony covered his body with his own, no doubt thinking he was under attack, and then the wreckage exploded with a rumbling boom, exploding into flames. The Captain stopped and stared, slack jawed as the fire reflected into his wide eyes, and Tony heaved a sigh of relief- he finally wasn’t injured, let alone immediately killed.

When Tony eased off, Rogers gazed up at him.

“You saved me. That’s twice now-“

“None of that today, handsome.” Tony interrupted, and Rogers’ jaw snapped shut. Tony got up, and offered him a helping hand. “I need your help.”

Only looked vaguely confused and without a second of hesitation, Steve accepted it. “Anything,” He promised, expression becoming deadly serious as Tony hauled him to his feet. “I owe you.”

If he were in any other situation, Tony had a list of a great many things prepared for what a soldier as pretty and dedicated as the Hero could offer for repayment. It spoke volumes of the severity of the situation that not a single one popped into his head. “Good.” Grabbing at part of his armour, Tony shoved him backward, behind another downed ship where they wouldn’t be seen. Rogers went along without a word of protest, letting himself be manhandled into surprising silence. “Because I need you to get us the fuck off this beach, right now.”

Rogers’ expression shifted from honest surprise to suspicion in the briefest of moments. “Why?”

“Because this battle is a slaughter, plain and simple. You only need to take a look around to see the truth, Captain. Does it look like we’re getting the drop on them, honestly?” Tony laughed, loud and bitter. “They knew we were coming, God knows how, but they’re going to kill every single one of us.”

The Captain’s face was doing interesting things, jumping between different and varying degrees of emotion- horror, worry, confusion, concern. Tony couldn’t help but feel bad for him. “How do you know this, exactly?” His voice was lower, rougher than before.

Tony smiled, tightly. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you, trust me.”

A soldier died screaming and burning only feet away, rolling in the sand in a futile attempt to put himself out, but neither soldier tore their gazes from one another. Tony was more interested in the spark of painful hope and recognition in Rogers’ eyes.

“You keep waking up,” Rogers breathed, his voice as soft as silk, and Tony’s heart clenched painfully tight in his chest. His expression must have confirmed it before his words ever did- his expression bloomed with relief, and new born hope.

“Yes, yes,” Tony babbled. “How did you-“

There was a sudden hand on his shoulder, warm and reassuring, and Tony cut himself off abruptly as Rogers leant forward, looking seriously into his eyes. He remained blissfully unaware of the Captain’s hand, snaking down for the blade at his waist.

“I need you to remain calm,” The soldier’s tone of authority was in full effect, and Tony could understand why he was such a famed leader, used as the face of the battle. The voice would have made the most rambunctious of men sit down, shut up and do what they were told. It worked on Tony, anyway. “My name is Captain Steve Rogers. Before this battle, I was training in Chamber 3. I need you to tell me all of this yesterday.” There was a firm set to the thin line of his mouth, and Rogers squeezed his shoulder firmly, pointedly, and his eyes were as hard as sapphires.

“I need you to find me when you wake up.” He said, before lunging and stabbing Tony in the eye.

-

“On your feet, asshole!”

“Fucking asshole!” Tony yelped as he jumped up, the movement becoming practically instinct. His hands went up to his eye, handcuff chains rattling, and he blinked in quick succession, remembering the pain like it had only just happened. Technically, he thought, it had. That sensation was going to be staying with a long time. Tony was going to kill him.

“What was that?” The soldier demanded, voice undoubtable in it’s fury, but then Coulson swooped down upon them once more.

Tony parroted his lines with dull enthusiasm, playing along to Coulson’s lead, and quickly found himself being marched along the line of tent C. Tony was striding with purpose, ahead of Coulson, eager to get it all over and done with. The Sergeant was talking, the same old spiel about blood and the battle, but Tony tuned it out. When they reached the last reaches of the row, the music from alcove growing louder with each step, Tony jogged ahead, slipping free of Coulson’s reach.

He rounded into the alcove before Coulson could even thinking about catching up with him, and the squad shot up out of their beds, standing to attention. Barton strode forward and quickly threw the sheet over their card game, swearing softly under his breath. Tony zeroed in on it, where he could see a card poking out as clear as day, and darted over and tugged the remainder of the sheet over. He jumped back when Coulson rounded the corner, as to not raise suspicion.

Barton froze up, staring at Tony, but nodded at him, a slight tip of his head. _Thanks,_ it said, and it was the most civil Barton had ever been to him.

Tony smiled, hoping he looked friendly. It was hard to seem genuine anymore, replaying this first meeting as often as he did. “Hi. I’m Tony Stark.”

Coulson brushed past him, shooting him an odd look. “Stark, this is-“

“J squad,” Tony supplied with fake cheer. “Pleasure to meet you all.”

“That’s Tony Stark,” Parker repeated, partly to himself from his place. “You invented the suits!”

“Yeah, that’s me.” Tony could take pride in that, at least.

“I’m a huge fan.” He said, distantly, getting a strange clouded over look in his eyes. Tony had met fan boys before, from the sweet ones to the creepy ones, but he didn’t expect to find one here. He wondered which kind Parker was, but he supposed he didn’t want to find out.

“Hang on,” Barton interrupted, frowning deeply. “If that’s Stark, why’s he cuffed and why’s he here?”

Tony forced a laugh. “Yeah, that’s a long story. You wouldn’t think someone as big and clever and frankly douchey as me would be down here, would you?”

Barton narrowed his eyes, but nodded. “Well, yeah.”

“Like I said,” Tony said, holding his smile as well as he could. “It’s a long story.” He turned to Coulson, who was staring at him strangely, as if trying to figure out exactly what Tony was trying to achieve, and held out his hands. He jostled the chain between his wrists, pointedly. “Could you undo these? Please?”

He looked hesitant, but he reached into his left pocket where the letter of condemnation was hidden, and carefully undid Tony’s cuffs. J squad watched in silence, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw Romanoff and Sylvan exchange a glance. The cuffs dropped away and Coulson lingered, as if concerned Tony would lash out, but he wasn’t stupid.

“Tony Stark is a deserter. I’m making each of you responsible for him tomorrow, and I want him combat ready by the time we move out tomorrow. I’m sure you’ll treat him gently, won’t you?”

There was a rumble of laughter amongst them, this time hesitant and a touch unsure, but Tony’s laugh was the loudest of them all. It tapered off quickly, after that. Coulson continued, “Mr Stark doesn’t believe he belongs here, and it’s your job to make him see the truth.”

Tony waited for Barton to speak, _so we have to be careful he doesn’t run all the way home to daddy dearest,_ but he didn’t make a peep, his gaze lowered to the floor. Romanoff took it as her cue. “So we gotta keep him here. Make sure he doesn’t try anything funny.”

“Don’t worry,” Tony assured her, and her dark eyes turned to glower. He only just had the courage to keep talking. “I won’t try to run. Wouldn’t want a taste of the famous Widows Bite, yeah?”

She looked a little pleased at that, almost preening under the recognition. Even Clint managed a smile, and he nudged her with an elbow, looking almost proud.

Tony stuck out his hand towards Coulson. “Thanks, Sergeant.”

Still looking wary, the Sergeant accepted it, and his grip was almost crushingly tight. Tony resisted the urge to rub sensation back into his hands and realign his bones when he pulled away. _Don’t show weakness, especially not in front of Barton. He’ll eat you alive._ Tony grinned, a gesture that wasn’t returned, and the Sergeant left. He could only imagine what he was thinking, and what he said to the others.

J squad didn’t say a word after he left. Odinson looked eagerly towards the card game and the pile of money that would have been his, thinking he was the only one to know about his assured victory, but no one else seemed interested in picking it up again.

Tony smiled at them all, as if they weren’t going to potentially lead to his violent death tomorrow. Parker was the only one who offered a tiny smile back, for the sake of politeness. “So.” Tony said, clapping his hands together. “What’s next? P.T?”

“P.T in ten minutes!” A voice shouted, right on cue, as always.

-

Tony had so far only seen Coulson once in battle, seen him command his soldiers a few times, but he couldn’t deny that he was a good Sergeant. It was clear his soldiers respected him, even if they got a little too comfortable with him and times, and Tony wondered just how much experience they had together in the battlefield. The Chitauri invasion had been going on for a long time, and Tony wondered if Coulson had been in charge of them the whole time, maybe even before. He also wondered if there were other soldiers that they had lost, but he didn’t ask. He didn’t want to rub salt in the wound.

They were jogging out on the tarmac in a tight formation, heavy combat boots striking the ground with loud thuds, breathing heavily in almost unison. Tony was growing used to it now, making less of a fool of himself with every new loop. He was almost growing confident.

They were jogging alongside the makeshift road, not far from where Tony had woken, and Coulson was shouting at them, surprisingly loud. It was like watching a dog with the roar of a lion. “What are you?”

“Warriors!” The squad yelled back, voices like fireworks around him. Tony had never bothered to take part, but among the group, Coulson had never noticed.

“What do warriors do?” He asked.

“Kill!”

“What are you going to do?”

“Kill!”

“What are you going to do?” Coulson asked, louder, and the replying roar was almost deafening.

“Kill!”

Satisfied, Coulson fell silent. He led them along, moving out of the way for a convoy of vehicles to go by, and while the others muttered amongst themselves, quietly to avoid Coulson’s wrath, Tony wondered what he was going to do.

 _Come find me when you wake up,_ Steve Rogers has said. _Hangar 3._ Tony had no idea how the base was laid out, and he doubted there was a map lying around anywhere, and he probably couldn’t just go up to someone and ask. Even if he did, he had never managed to be apart from any member of J squad in any loop. Even if they weren’t surrounding him, he could feel the gazes like heat on his back. He couldn’t go to the battle again without Rogers, but he needed to find a way to escape first.

Sylvan laughed from her spot beside him, drawing his attention. She had a light flush on her cheeks, and her dog tags clacked together around her neck. “It’s true,” She was saying. “I think I might set some kind of record tomorrow.”

“There’s no way you’ve been in twenty battles.” Clint protested. “That’s bull.”

“No, it’s true. I’ve been in the game a long time.” She turned her head, showing her best moon eyes to Odinson. “Considering how long we’ve been fighting together, it’s our anniversary tomorrow too.”

 _You’ll be celebrating it with a bang, don’t worry,_ Tony thought morosely, but only listened as Barton mockingly wolf whistled. Tony looked to them, keeping an eye out for any signs that they were anywhere near where he needed to go. It could have been halfway across the base, for all he knew.

Odinson had only rolled his eyes and Sylvan only grinned wider. “It’s okay, Thor, my love. I know you only have eyes for Jane. I’m happy for you, despite it all.”

“Shut up.” Romanoff scolded them despite her own small smile, at the exact time Coulson called out, “Knock off the grab ass.”

He saw it, then, growing closer as they jogged- a huge building just across the way and to his left, where some of the cars were heading. The first building had open doors, soldiers pouring in and out in a constant stream, and it had painted on the side in huge green letters Hangar 1. It was massive, and there was a long row of them, presumably where Hangar 3 would be found. He sucked in a breath, staring at it, and remembered how in every other loop, they never went near it. They turned to the right, looping around the main building where all the functioning suits were kept, all the way back to the tent.

Tony needed to get away from the team or get himself closer to Rogers, any way he could.

He panicked a little, and said the first thing that came to his mind. It wasn’t his finest moment. “Grab this, Coulson!”

In retrospect, he could have said something better, but it did the job. Coulson immediately called for them to stop, and Barton was on the floor practically gasping for breath, dying of laughter. Parker even snickered.

They all stopped, turning to watch as Coulson came around with a thunderous look in his eyes. “Private, drop and give me fifty.”

He was fully aware of the judgemental stares of almost the entire squad, even as Clint wiped tears of mirth from his eyes, desperately trying to calm himself before he was given the same punishment. Dropping down, Tony got himself in position. He had always hated push ups, and he knew he would be aching afterwards, but it was his own fault.

“Platoon,” He called to the rest. “Drop and give me fifty.” His lips curved into a smile as they all deflated, like small children being told off. “Compliments of Private Stark.”

“Thanks, asshole.” Odinson grumbled.

“Except for you, Barton. Since you find insolence so amusing, you can give me seventy five.”

He didn’t find it quite so funny anymore. With a vicious glare towards Tony, one that promised hell to pay, he joined the others as they dropped down, and they all began to work as Coulson called out the numbers. Tony looked to his left as he dropped, wondering just how the hell he was going to cross all that space without his absence being noticed. If there was any way of maybe luring the squad over there-

A vehicle rumbled by, unnervingly close, and he suddenly remembered the road. They moved on by, taking the road towards the Hangars, and an idea began to form in Tony’s brain. Looking over his shoulder, he saw three more cars coming, all in a short row at a fairly slow speed. They were large and sat fairly low with small tires, just enough space for him to get under and big enough to hide him from sight.

It was daring, but if he could roll underneath the car and run alongside it, so Coulson’s view was blocked, the Sergeant may not notice that his favourite Private was missing before Tony could escape.

Tony waited, biding him time until two cars drove past, and as quickly as he could pressed himself to the ground and rolled, hoping his timing was well enough that he would get to the other side of the car without taking injury. He narrowly missed the first tire, the bulk of the car heavy above him and the familiar smell of warm metal in his nose-

The last thing he heard was Coulson’s alarmed “What the hell are you doing?” before the back tire went straight over him.

-

“On your feet, asshole!”

An hour later, Coulson was storming around to him again, and Clint was laughing in the background like a hyena. Romanoff looked exasperated, like she knew what was coming. “Private, drop and give me-“

Tony was already on the floor, in position. Coulson faltered, staring down at him, and Tony looked up, expression as innocent as possible.

“Fifty, Sergeant?”

Coulson shook his head, as if willing the confusion away. “Yes. And platoon, drop and give me fifty. Compliments of Private Stark.”

“Thanks, asshole.” Odinson repeated, as a chorus of groans went up. Satisfaction brimmed up within him, and he smiled into the tarmac as Clint was given his extra twenty five. With luck, he wouldn’t be around to deal with the fallout.

He did the push ups silently, without complaint, counting down- and then as soon as the last car was about to go by, he rolled again, this time with much more success. He cleared each of the tires and scrambled to his feet, jogging to catch up, and hiding behind the car. He could still hear Coulson counting down, uninterrupted, and Tony was safe.

For the moment.

He ditched the car and made his way quickly along to the Hangar, hoping that if he walked with purpose and looked like he belonged, no one would question him. He moved swiftly and kept his head down, avoiding those who walked past him, and to his relief, no one gave him a second look.

He made his way past Hangars 1 and 2, narrowly avoiding being hit by a second car. He wasn’t eager to relive the experience, and he ducked inside the third hangar as soon as he could.

He had heard the sound of repulsors and bullets as he had moved past the previous too, but inside, it was so much louder. He half wanted to cover his ears and head back out, but there was no way in hell he was running back to Coulson with his tail between his legs because of a few loud noises. He wandered around, keeping to the walls, hoping he wouldn’t be seen. He searched the crowd for Rogers, but found no sign of him. None of them bore the little mark he had on his forearm, and none of them even looked particularly friendly. They were all incredible looking soldiers, taller and thicker than him, some with permanent sneers.

Tony stayed as far away as he could, moving up the hangar, wondering where the hell Rogers was.

To his right there were rows of Iron Man suits, and soldiers were suiting up or stripping off, almost like a gym. They were shouting comments and jokes to one another, smiling and laughing, but when Tony passed they fell quiet, watching him with unfriendly eyes. Tony was hyper aware of the quiet than descended wherever he walked, and he moved faster. He didn’t want to be called out by any of them, he knew.

To the left were shooting ranges, were people who had claimed their armours used repulsors and guns alike to shoot at robots shaped like Chitauri. Attached to the ceiling, they skittered and spun, moving quickly in tight formation. One well aimed repulsor blast made one fall apart, losing bits of metal as it spun, and a man shouted his praises as he hit a large red button, and the machines slowly began to slow until they finally reached a stop. Tony peered at each soldier, but none of them were the Captain.

He became aware of murmuring voices, foot falls behind him, and he turned to see one soldier following him, eyes narrowed. Tony immediately turned away, but refused to walk faster even as his heart picked up its pace. He couldn’t be stopped, couldn’t be sent back.

About three quarters of the way up the line, he saw it was being used, but no soldier stood there. Peering a little closer, his heart leapt when he saw familiar blond hair out on the practise floor. Rogers was in the middle, surrounded by the robots but paying them no heed. They moved by him, flashing past, worryingly close, but Tony supposed the Captain knew what was best. He had one foot flat on the floor, another drawn backwards and was bent back at an almost impossible angle, a feat only masters could perform. It looked uncomfortable, and even though Rogers could clearly handle it, Tony’s own back ached with sympathy pains.

It was good to know he was so flexible. Tony would keep that in mind.

Tony stepped up to the threshold, but paused before walking out. The robots didn’t bother Rogers but they certainly bothered him, and Tony wondered if he should hit the button before running out. On the floor, there was vivid black and yellow stripe tape, and big white letters warning him not to cross the line. So instead, Tony cleared his throat and called out, “Excuse me. Captain Rogers?”

The man didn’t even twitch. He remained completely still, not even bothering to turn his head, and Tony wondered if he hadn’t been heard as was being ignored. He tried again. “Captain Rogers!”

“Excuse me.” A familiar voice said suddenly, and Tony jumped. The man following him was directly behind him, now, with his arms tightly crossed against his chest, a vaguely threatening stance. With his short sleeves, the muscles on his arms bulged out, and Tony’s mouth went dry for more than one reason.

“Do we have a problem?” The man asked him, tersely, and Tony placed the voice. It was Roger’s partner on the battlefield, the only one who spoke.

“Not a problem, sir.” He said, only half honestly. “I just need to have a word with the good Captain, there.”

Something flickered across the soldier’s face, too fast for Tony to identify. It was replaced with something apologetic. “I’m afraid the Captain isn’t really in the mood for company. You can try again tonight, though, his moods tend to clear up pretty quick.”

“No, it needs to be now.” Tony protested, turning back. “Rogers!” He bellowed, and there was no way he wasn’t heard, and he still didn’t move.

“You should leave,” The man stressed, reaching out to grab his shoulder. “Come on, buddy-”

“No.” He stepped away, out of his reach. “It took a lot to get here, I’m not leaving without seeing him.” With that, he darted out onto the practise floor. A klaxon blared overhead, ridiculously loud, but Rogers didn’t look up and the machinery didn’t stop. The man shouted after him, disbelieving and angry.

Tony kept stopping and starting- he had to, to avoid getting slammed into and knocked off his feet- and by the time he reached Rogers, the machines were finally beginning to slow.

The noises had finally disturbed Rogers, and he looked up. He watched Tony approach, unmoving, before gradually easing himself down, flat on his back, before rolling and sitting up. His upper lip curled, baring his teeth. “Who are you?” He demanded to know.

“I, uh, I’m Tony Stark.” He stumbled, a little caught off guard by the vicious tone.

Steve looked distinctly unwelcoming, in contrast to his kindness on the battlefield. “I asked not to be disturbed, Private.” His voice was low, almost dangerous.

“This is important.” Tony informed him.

Steve arched a brow, and he crossed his own arms across his chest, adopting the same pose as the man from before. It did interesting things to his own muscles, and his skin was slick with sweat. He was well built under the suit, and Tony knew why they used him for recruitment posters. “Did Pierce send you? Are you here to implore me to reconsider?”

“No,” Tony said, but he filed that little piece of information away in the back of his mind. It may prove useful in another loop. It had become second nature, now, learning the little things about people and filing them away. “It’s actually a pretty funny story. You sent me.”

The brows lifted even higher. “Is that so?”

“Tomorrow,” He clarified. “At the beach. We meet, and we die. Well, we meet and you stab me in the eye. You told me that you’d be here, and that I should come and talk to you.”

Realization dawned on the Captain’s face, and the harsh lines of his grimace gradually melted away. His expression softened, and those eyes were full of compassion.

“Oh, God.” The man said, his voice going gentle once more, like he was speaking to a fearful child. “You’re me.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re me, you poor man.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Tony said, find that remaining flippant in the face of confusion was the best. “If I were you, I’d never put clothes on.”

He flushed at that, he genuinely flushed, and he leaned over to look past Tony. “It’s fine, Sam.” He shouted over, and while the man didn’t immediately lose interest, he eventually wandered away, occasionally shooting them worried looks. “I’m sorry- about him, and about how rude I was. And, uh, about your eye, I suppose.”

Tony dismissed it with a wave of his hand. “It’s forgotten, as long as you tell me what’s going on. You know what’s happening to me, don’t you?”

Rogers sighed, placing his hands on his hips. “That’s the problem. It’s a long story, and I don’t know if you’ll tell me to fuck off afterwards.”

Tony laughed, and it echoed around the hall. “If you can believe me, I’m sure I can believe you.”

Huffing out a small exhale, most likely a sign of amusement even though he didn’t find it funny, just to be polite, he said with a wry twist of his lips, “Come with me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There two warnings are for two instances of violence, when Tony is killed- he has his throat cut, and is stabbed in the eye by Steve.


	3. lovely fiction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony receives a helping hand.

Rogers guided him out of the hangar with a steady hand on his forearm, fingers curling around him as if fearing he was a treasure that might be snatched away at any moment. At any other time, Tony might have protested, but he was grateful for the guidance. After so long feeling lost, confused and frankly afraid, he was going to finally get some answers. They may not be ones that he liked, but he would cross that bridge when he came to it. _It can’t get any worse than it already is._

Rogers murmured reassurances to Sam as he passed, _I’ll be back in a bit, don’t worry._ He willingly let them go, but Tony could feel Sam’s stares as they walked hurriedly out. But before he could ask any questions, Rogers was pulling Tony insistently across the tarmac, clearly in a rush. Tony hadn’t even a moment to catch his breath.

“I might need your protection,” He said carefully, and the Captain shot him a questioning look over his shoulder, but never stopped moving. “I kind of ran away from my Sergeant during P.T.”

He laughed at that, a quiet thing. “Don’t worry about it. If he bothers us, I’ll tell him Pierce said it was okay. No one argues with Pierce.”

Tony had no idea who Pierce was, yet another reason why he was lost at sea. “It sounded like you’re having some trouble with him.”

“Sam tell you that?” Rogers sounded faintly amused. “It doesn’t matter. Nothing to worry yourself with. He was just being insufferable this morning. Now, come on.” He pulled him through the thick crowd at the entrance of the building, occasionally greeting soldiers he recognised- most of them- but never stopping to talk. Tony wondered what they all thought, seeing the Captain haul him out like a parent with a misbehaving child.

“Stark, I need to make some things clear to you,” He finally said when they were clear of the hangar, out of earshot. Tony could barely hear him under the rumble of engines. “You can’t tell anyone about this, understand? You’ll talk to me and only me- anyone else, and you’ll either end up in a psych ward or on an operating table all in the name of research.”

“I think I got close to the psych ward once,” Tony admitted, and Rogers made a sympathetic noise.

“I went straight to my superior after I realized I couldn’t win the war by myself and nearly ended up dissected. If that happens, make sure you die and restart. Got it?”

“Yeah.” Tony wasn’t sure where he was being led, or what the hell he was talking about, but Rogers still had that grip in his arm, and people were beginning to stare at them. “Uh, Rogers-”

“Ignore them. And if we speak to anyone, call me Captain.” He sped up, and Tony struggled to keep pace. Rogers had long legs, longer strides, and Tony suddenly felt very guilty about how he used to leave SI employees in the dust. “Tell me about the first time you died- you killed a Chitauri, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, I-”

“Describe it.”

Tony scowled. He had a thing about not being interrupted, but he supposed he had better start getting used to it. He had a nagging feeling it was going to be happening a great deal. “It was a lot bigger than any of the others. More than twice their size. And it was a different colour- the others were all kind of grey and orangey, but this one was silver and blue.”

“You got covered in its blood?”

Tony’s head snapped around. Rogers didn’t react. “I did, yeah.” He said slowly, suspiciously. _How exactly does he know that?_ “It burnt like a bitch. It was like acid.”

“I remember.” Rogers said with a heavy exhale. He sounded defeated, almost exhausted, but Tony still had no idea what he was talking about. “They know we’re coming tomorrow, don’t they. We’re all going to be killed.”

“I’m sorry, how exactly do you know all of this?”

Rogers’ lips were twisted into a wry smile. “I told you,” He said, and he turned to the left, heading towards a group of parked vehicles. Tony quickened his pace to keep up. “You’re me.”

“That doesn’t make any sense, how am I you-”

Rogers went for the closest vehicle, practically ripping the door open in his enthusiasm. Sliding into the seat, he said, “Get in.” and before Tony could ask, slammed the door behind him.

Frustrated, Tony stormed around the other side and Rogers brought the engine to life, trying not to kick the car in annoyance, and opened the door, but stood there, refusing to enter. “Are you going to give me any answers, or are you trying to be all interesting and mysterious? Come on, Heathcliffe, I want to know what the hell’s happening here. Do you know how many times I’ve died? Saving your ass?”

“You’ll get answers when you come with me.” Rogers looked pointedly from him to the seat. “Get in.”

“I don’t want to go with you! I don’t know you!”

“I’m the man with the answers, aren’t I?”

“And how do I know you actually have these answers, and you’re not leading me to an operating table?”

“Well, if you haven’t figured it out already, what happened to you, happened to me.” He cut the engine with a flick of his hand, and leant across the empty seat. “I had your power, and I lost it.”

“So I can do something about it, there’s a cure.” Tony couldn’t help but grin, and leaned into the seat, almost crawling in. The Captain pulled back, and he was smirking, like he knew he had his attention. “How do I get rid of it?”

“You don’t. Not yet, anyway.” Rogers jerked his head, gesturing him to get in, and with a sigh, Tony did, shutting the door behind him tentatively. He eyed the lock, but Rogers made no move to trap him, “I need your help before you get rid of it.”

He started the engine again, and reversed out of the spot as Tony asked, with a steadily sinking heart and a feeling he knew what was coming, “With what?”

Rogers’ grin widened. “Winning the war, of course.”

-

Rogers drove him in almost complete silence for a handful of minutes, until he spoke up. “So, you’re the guy who created the suits.”

Tony started, jolting in surprise at the sudden voice. He had been staring morosely out of the window, watching the signs and soldiers whip by. He wasn’t happy at all, having finally thought that this madness he had found himself in would end- but now he was being dragged along, the promise of answers dangled in front of his face like a treat. He wondered if it would be ripped away from him as soon as he was no longer useful. But Rogers was looking at him, expression touched with interest. He looked a little imploring.

“I, uh,” His voice was rough with disuse, and he cleared his throat firmly. “Yeah. That’s me.”

“So what are you doing here, then? Shouldn’t you be running your dad’s company?” Rogers pressed, looking back at the road. He hadn’t shared their intended destination, but they were still in Heathrow, following the roads closely. “Did you sign up?”

Tony hummed, his lips twitching. “Not exactly.”

Rogers waited for him to elaborate for a moment, and waved a hand in a ‘continue’ gesture when he didn’t. “So?”

“Let’s say that once this is over, I’m going to make your boss’ life a living hell.”

The man blinked. “Director Fury? What did he do to you?”

“He killed me.” Tony said, sullenly and simply, and Rogers looked like he was beginning to suffer from a severe migraine. He shook his head and didn’t ask any more questions, only glancing at Tony now and again through the corner of his eye when he thought he was looking. They drove in an oppressive silence the rest of the way, another few long minutes, Tony staring back out of the window.

Eventually, just when the silence was starting to become unbearable, Rogers pulled up to a building, just as large as Hangar 3. The door open only an inch or so, and sparking lights made the metal shine. Tony followed Rogers as he cut the engine and slipped out of the car, and he could hear familiar screeching and drilling, like he did on the production floors at SI.

Rogers rapped his knuckles on the great door three times, not that anyone would hear him, and grabbed the door, sliding it open. The noise became abruptly louder, like the sound of repulsors and bullets, and while Rogers had to squint against the flaring lights, Tony only laughed, and darted inside even before Rogers could.

“Okay, this is more me.” Tony said with a genuine smile, opening his arms as if to embrace the entire room. “This is my happy place, right here.”

There were rows after rows of Iron Man suits, and each of them had something in common- they were in disastrous shape, with helmets cracked, chests crushed, plates dented. They were laid on tables or strung up on walls, and engineers dithered over them, pounding them back into shape with hammers or replacing parts entirely. They were all hard at work, taking on another suit as soon as they finished, and he felt intensely proud of this group of strangers. Tony could barely hear himself think over the drills, and he loved it. For him, it was peace at last.

“I’m glad you’re having fun.” Rogers said, dryly, standing right by his side to be heard. “But we’re here to meet someone, not drool over the tech.”

“I could drool over the tech all day,” He said, letting Rogers guide him past the rows, peering at each suit as he passed. “Look at my beauties. Aren’t they wonderful?”

“I can’t deny their practical uses.” Rogers stood in-between him and the armours, no doubt to stop him from wandering off, but even he was smiling faintly. The lights in the darkness cast interesting shadows across his face. He walked Tony up four rows, and then with a firm order to ‘ _wait there’,_ disappeared into the fray. Despite the dangers, no one moved to stop him.

Tony itched to check them out, warring with himself, and almost as soon as Tony decided _fuck it,_ Rogers was coming back, with a friend. The engineer wore a welding mask and protective clothing like the others, but as soon as he stepped free of the working floor, he pushed it up, and stripped off his gloves. The face underneath looked tired and distinctly irritated, and hurried along past Tony without giving him a second look. Rogers nodded for Tony to follow.

The stranger took them to a side room, more like a glorified closet, and shut the door firmly behind them after checking they hadn’t been watched or followed. He switched the light on, and after a long moment were it flickered uselessly, it filled the room with a half-hearted light. Steve took a position next to a long and wide table, covered with a tarp, and Tony stood on the opposite side, opposite him. The engineer joined them quickly, standing close to Rogers.

“What are you doing here, Steve?” The man demanded to know. “I told you, you had to give me some warning if you were coming down.”

Tony took the chance to glance around the room, taking in its unkempt state. There were tall shelves piled with cardboard boxes filled with aged paper and torn files. There were old tools and broken bits of machinery and tech he didn’t recognize lying around, abandoned, and almost everything had a thick layer of dust. There were cobwebs in every corner, and it was clear this room had not been used to its full extent in a long time. Judging by the absence of dust, the only thing that had been recently touched was the table underneath its covering.

“I’m sorry,” Rogers was saying. “I had to, it’s an emergency.”

The engineer didn’t look particularly comforted or happy, but he looked to Tony with suspicious eyes without arguing further. “Is this who I think it is?”

“Yes,” Rogers spoke for him. “But more importantly, he’s me. Before Verdun. And he’s going to help us finish this.”

“Am I?” Tony asked with an arched brow, and while Rogers glared at him, the engineer seemed equally as incredulous.

“You mean, he’s-”

“Yes.” Rogers continued, like Tony had never spoken. “He died on the beach, tomorrow.”

The engineer narrowed his eyes, and tucked an arm behind his back. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

Tony looked at him like he was mad. He probably was, with deep bags underneath dark eyes, and wild curls of hair. “How should I know that?”

He looked thoughtful, bringing his arm back, and Tony saw he was holding up four fingers before he curled them back into a loose fist. “So this is the first time we’re having this conversation.”

“We should try this on him, maybe,” Rogers spoke up, and one of the unrecognizable bits of machinery on the table was suddenly in his hand. Tony had assumed he didn’t recognise it due to its age, but Rogers flicked at a tiny switch with his thumb, and five jagged spikes poked out, as sharp as needles. Tony yelped and darted even further away, eyes locked onto the points, and to his pleasure, the stranger snatched it from his hands.

“It doesn’t work,” He said, flicking it again, and Tony relaxed only minutely as the spikes withdrew. He put it to one side on a shelf, out of Rogers’ reach. Tony didn’t ask what it did or how it worked- he had a strong feeling he didn’t want to know. “Has he had the visions yet?”

“Visions?” Tony barked out, growing more incensed and panicked by the second. “What visions?!”

“So he hasn’t had them yet.” He looked pleased by that. “That’s good, it means we have time.” He turned to Rogers, who opened his mouth as if to speak, but Tony got there first.

“Excuse me,” He cut in, voice lashing out. “Who are you, exactly?”

The engineer smiled, mirthlessly and without friendliness. “My name’s Bruce Banner. I’m a Doctor, particle physics, advanced microbiology” He almost laughed, but it was more of a dismissive snort. “Well, I used to be. I used to work as a government scientist, and I’m an expert on Chitauri biology. Nice to meet you, I suppose.” He offered him a hand, slick with oil, but Tony had worse on his hands. He accepted it. Banner had calloused hands, but his grip was gentle.

“He’s the only person other than me who will believe what you say,” Rogers said. “He’s the cleverest guy I know, knows more about Chitauri biology than anyone else. He is… he was a top analyst at Whitehall.”

“So what exactly are you doing here, then, if you were so great?” Tony asked, aware of his rudeness but curious, and Bruce smiled, very tightly.

“I could ask the same of you,” He replied, not nastily, but Tony knew that Banner wasn’t afraid of poking at his past. He didn’t want the word ‘deserter’ to be mentioned, or Rogers might not be so inclined to keep him safe. He dropped it immediacy, with a muttered ‘sorry’ and Banner nodded, graciously. “I was their best, until I met Rogers, and now I’m just an ‘engineer with psychiatric delusions’.” The bitterness was clear, and Tony couldn’t help but feel bad for him.

“Let’s show him.” Rogers had moved down the reaches of the table, and gripped a corner of tarp without asking permission. Banner moved along to join him as the Captain yanked it free, and when Banner’s fingers lightly touched it, Tony’s breath caught in his chest.

It lit up underneath his fingertips, flaring to life, and while the light began as a single white circle it spread out, tendrils of light reaching to every far corner. It lit up Banner’s face as he bent over it, watching as the tendrils formed words and images. Tony watched, impressed, as an image of a Chitauri was formed, side on and head on, with all of its biology displayed and appropriately labelled. He had things just like it in New York- he ignored the sting that train of thought caused in his heart- but he didn’t expect to find technology quite so advance outside there, as he had made it himself.

The light then reached out, from the table, to form holograms. Rogers only looked faintly surprised as it happened, like he had seen it multiple times before but couldn’t quite cope with it every time, like he couldn’t believe it was there. The images changed colour, taking on the greys and silvers and oranges and blues. It was impressive, and Tony had a new appreciation for SHIELD’s capabilities, even if everyone working for them seemed to be a dick.

“Well, to start off with, everything you’re thinking about the Chitauri is basically wrong.” Banner began, and Tony snorted.

“We’re off to a good start.” He said, a little offended, but fell silent when Rogers hushed him.

“The Chitauri aren’t an army, even though they seem like one. They’re a single organism, believe it or not.”

Tony arched a brow, and he would have called Banner’s bullshit if it wasn’t for Rogers’ withering look. He only simmered in silence.

“We call these,” Banner gestured to the simplest looking, smallest Chitauri. It was just like the ones Tony had described- a kind of gun metal grey colour, partly orange. “These are just drones. They kind of work as an extension, like a claw.”

“This one,” Rogers reached out and pushed one hologram to the middle. It took precedence over the others, and they grew smaller and flew into the corners at the physical command, ready to be brought back up to the centre if necessary. The new creature was larger than the others, and Tony recognised the silver and sapphire. “The one you killed. It’s much rarer. One in…” He hesitated, and looked to Banner for clarification.

“One in 6.18 million,” He said, almost proudly, but then went a little red. He cleared his throat, loudly. “Not that it matters, it’s just fascinating.”

“Nerdgasms.” Tony supplied, helpfully. “Hell of a thing.”

“Anyway,” Banner said, quickly, hoping that if he spoke fast enough Tony would go away quicker. “They act like the central nervous system, in a way. And this,” Banner pushed the creature away, and fiddled for a moment, flicking through other holograms, until a huge mass pushed everything else away, taking up the entire table. As soon as it appeared, Rogers drew back, and his expression was one of steel. “Is the brain. It controls the drones, and it’s called the Omega. And it has the ability to control time.”

Tony watched the screen, almost dumbfounded, and Banner looked to him as if for approval. Rogers wasn’t quite so naïve, and hurriedly kept talking, knowing that if they gave Tony a breather he was going to book it at the first chance. “The one you killed, the Alpha,” He brought up the image again, smaller this time. “It has this automatic response, this trigger, and it relays information all the way to the Omega, who immediately resets the day. But when it does, it remembers the day.” He smiled, very sharply, with white teeth. “Just like you do.”

“It knows what we do before we do it, which is why the battle is such a disaster, and why it only got worse after you died. Obviously, an enemy that knows what’s going to happen before it happens can’t lose.” Banner smiled again, ruefully, and Tony wondered if that man had ever smiled genuinely in his life. But he pushed that thought way- it didn’t matter.

“I’m sorry, this is,” He cut himself off. He didn’t know what it was. “Look, this doesn’t make any sense. At all.”

“I know it’s crazy,” Banner agreed. “That’s why I have psychiatric problems, now.” He took a step back from the table, sighing. “All you need to know is that it’s the perfect world conquering organism, and it wants to conquer us. And we have to stop it. Well- you have to stop it.”

Tony crossed his arms across his chest, flashing Banner a smile. “Really? Me?”

“When you killed that Alpha, got covered in its blood, you accidentally entered the enemy’s nervous system,” Banner explained. “Now, you have the Alpha’s ability. When you die, you start the day all over again.”

Tony pulled a face. “How does that even work?”

“Haven’t a clue.” Rogers said, cheerfully. “All I know is that I lost the ability after Verdun, and now you have it. So we have a crack at ending the war.” Rogers turned to him, and looked only faintly apologetic. “You have to die, every day, until the Omega is destroyed.”

Looking around, Tony saw that Banner looked utterly defeated, running his hand through his hair and sighing. He wasn’t going to get any help from him. Rogers was still looking at him, expectantly, waiting for everything to finally sink in.

Tony took a few steps back, wondering how far he would make it before Rogers hunted him down. Surely, if he wanted to get away, all he had to do was die, and never approach him.

But then, after that, what would he do?

He didn’t have an answer for himself.

“Well, that’s a very nice show you just put on there.” He managed, weakly, and Rogers shook his head.

“It’s not a show. Trust me. I’ve lived it.”

Tony cursed to himself, softly, and turned away, slowly pacing the floor as well as he could in the confined space. He could feel Rogers’ eyes locked on him, but he ignored it. All the while, he wondered what the better fate was- to restart the day, find a way to escape, slip away and flee to New York and see what became of the world after that, or to fight with Rogers in his little piece of fiction and what then? Even if they did succeed, what would happen then?

He knew he would take the first option, every time.

But Stark men didn’t flee. _Stark men are made of iron,_ his father said to him, like it was gospel, and those words had been ingrained into him, carved into his bones.

Tony ran a hand over his mouth, and turned back to his companions.

“What do we do now, exactly?” He asked, and Banner cleared his throat.

“Have you seen anything?”

Tony smiled at him. “Are you shitting me?”

“Visions,” He clarified, flushing pink again. “Have you seen any visions? The Omega can sense when it’s losing control of its power, it’s fully aware. It’s going to be hunting for you, and when it comes close to doing so, you’ll start seeing visions.” He waved his hands to the hologram of the Omega, still there, an ominous presence. “You’ll start seeing that, and where it is.”

He looked doubtfully to Rogers. “You had these visions? And you actually saw,” He flailed his hand towards the hologram. _“that?”_

Rogers’ jaw worked under his skin, gritting, and he said, “Not in the flesh, no.”

Tony smiled, triumphantly. “So this is bullshit, then. Some kind of abstract theory, yeah?”

“I saw it!” Rogers protested, voice suddenly very loud. Banner looked towards the door, nervously, but Rogers was unable to be stopped. “It was there, in Verdun! I was going to kill it, I swear, I just…” He lost his energy almost as quickly as it came, and he lowered his gaze. He stared at the stone floor for a moment, contemplatively, before continuing, quietly. “I lost the power before I could get to it. And by the time the battle was won, we couldn’t find a single trace of it. It was gone.”

There was an awkward quiet as he finished, his presence deflating like a balloon until it was roughly the size of Banner’s. He settled down, expression regretful and his mind clearly stuck in the past, and even though Tony’s own was screaming, he took charge, because no one else was going to.

“Alright.” He said, rubbing his hands together. “This is some bullshit right here, but all I have to do is wait until I start getting the visions, then bam, I can tell you where the damn thing is?” He grinned, relieved. “So that’s not too bad.”

Banner chuckled softly, and Rogers shook his head. “Not quite, I’m afraid.” He stepped forward, clapping Tony on the shoulder, and the force jolted Tony forward. He smiled down at him. “You’re going to get me there, and I’m going to kill it.”

Tony laughed in his face.

“Get you there? Hah, please. I’m not even combat ready.”

Banner winced, and Rogers smiled, suspiciously sweetly.

-

Steve could hear Sam coming up behind him, still panting from his workout, steps of an Iron Man suit heavy against the floor. He came to a stop just behind him, and didn’t say anything for a moment, just letting the moment play out and their breaths sync together.

“Wow.” He eventually said, and Steve couldn’t even argue.

“I know.” He said, pained, as Tony screamed on the practise floor, wildly shooting repulsors at the clawed machines that spun around him. He had been knocked off his feet twice, paint scratched off his suit, and the second time, he had point blank refused to get up until Steve forced him on his feet. Even then, he had whined like a child, rattling off a long list of excuses about how this was ‘demeaning’ and ‘useless in the long run’. Steve had been tempted to wait the day out until the visions came and go on alone- but without Stark’s power, he would barely get out the door.

Despite his newly gained talent, he was, without a doubt, the worst soldier Steve had ever witnessed, and he could only wonder just how he had survived to make it to Steve in the first place.

It would take him a long time to finally get to at least acceptable levels with the repulsors, then the guns, and then with melee weapons, and Steve could feel a migraine coming on.

“Where did you get this one?” Sam asked, snickering a little when a machine clipped Tony and sent him spinning, and Steve rubbed at his temples.

“The lowest, fieriest pits of hell.” He replied, and Sam laughed, reaching out and squeezing his shoulder before leaving, probably going to the barracks to rest. Steve loved that man, but in that moment, he resented him deeply.

He watched Tony struggle for several long minutes, shouting out the necessary encouragement to keep him running, and wondered just how he was going to make a soldier out of a businessman. His aim was frankly atrocious, he had barely hit a single claw, and judging by the way he was staggering about, his stamina was terrible. That had to change.

The gun at Steve’s waist was a heavy presence, a reminder of their way out if everything went sideways- which he knew it would.

It did two minutes later, when Tony managed to finally take down one of the claws. It spewed little pieces of metal everywhere, and Steve reached up to hit the button to stop the machine when Tony spun, striking a pose and cheered- and one of the other claws smacked into him, as if in revenge for its fallen brother, and sent him flying across the room. Steve watched him sail, with a building feeling of dread, and winced when he smacked into the concrete wall, the armour splitting and cracking.

At least, he thought it was the armour. It may have been bone. But Steve tried to remain optimistic. It helped in situations like these.

He hit the button, harder than was strictly necessary and waited a moment for the machines to slow before stepping out to the field.

“Monarch of Morons, I’m sorry I yelled at you.” He heard Tony whimper, and he didn’t want to ask what the hell that meant. He walked up to him, in no real hurry, hand on the gun.

“Are you alright, Stark?” He called over.

“I- I think I broke something.” He replied, sounding confused, and a little frightened. He wasn’t moving a muscle.

“What?” Steve stopped at his feet, looking down at his still form. His back was at an odd angle, and he thought he may know the answer.

Tony took several, deep breaths before answering. “My back. I can’t feel anything, just my lips.” He moved them about, waggling them as if to demonstrate, and he looked ridiculous. Steve huffed.

“Alright. This is one of the rules, and it’s incredibly important.” Steve crouched down next to him, looking him dead in the eye, expression deathly serious. “If you get injured like this on the battlefield, anything that will limit you severely, make sure you die. Any broken bones, anything that stops you moving, you have to restart the day.”

Tony licked his lips, and Steve could see he knew what was coming. He eyed the gun at Steve’s hips. “Why?” He asked, anyway.

“It’s how I lost the power.” He explained, patiently, taking out the gun. Tony’s eyes followed it. “I got injured, and I was bleeding out, but not enough to die. I thought that was it and I could restart the day, but I woke up in a hospital with three pints of someone else’s blood attached to me, and then I didn’t have it anymore.” He didn’t like talking about his failure, but he soldiered through. He knew it was necessary, as much as he didn’t like it. “So make sure you die. Got it?”

Tony hummed, a vague sound, and Steve stood up, abruptly. “We’ll be starting over, now. Tell me what happened, and we’ll start again.”

He blinked. “What?”

Steve shot him in the head, wordlessly, and then he forgot Tony’s face.

-

He’s angry, he’s tense, and he had asked not to be disturbed, and yet this man was staring at him, plain faced, but he could see the emotions barely hidden behind his gaze. Anger and irritation, and yet fear and resignation. He looks at him like he knew him, and Steve knew him too, albeit faintly. He had seen his face before, staring out at him from gossip rags and newspapers alike.

It didn’t matter. Steve didn’t know him, and he didn’t know Steve. No one knew Steve, not anymore.

He knew it wouldn’t be right to snap at some poor unsuspecting soldier, especially one with that look of fear. It wasn’t his fault that Steve was in a sour mood, or that Pierce was sending them all to die tomorrow and couldn’t be budged a single inch, but Steve wasn’t in the mood for being nice, not after all this. Not when everyone else was being an asshole.

He lowered himself to the floor, easing himself out of his position to avoid injury. “Who are you?” He demanded, baring his teeth.

“I’m Tony Stark!” He burst out, and Steve knew the name. It clicked somewhere in his brain. He was part of the company that made the suits, the son of the head. He wondered faintly what the hell someone like him was doing here, when he should have been helping run the company. He had heard his father wasn’t well, either, practically on death’s door, so why was the rich boy playing soldier with the rest of them when he had better things to do?

But he was still talking, and it was Steve’s duty to at least let him listen before he ripped him a new one and sent him on his way.

“We’ve met- no, fuck, we meet. Tomorrow. On the beach.” He said, quickly words almost slurring together in his desperation to get them out, and rocks dropped heavily in Steve’s gut. _Oh._

Oh god, it was him.

Steve looked at him in a whole new light, up and down, taking him in. The way he held himself, the way he fiddled with his own fingers, the way he wore the soldier’s uniform so awkwardly. He would have stuck out like a sore thumb outside. It all made sense- the rage, the fear, the resignation. He didn’t look like a capable soldier, nothing like Steve or the rest of his team, and he was surrounded by strangers, all alone with a power he didn’t fully understand.

He was Steve, and that meant Steve was _him,_ with his blood on the stone, the cracking of his broken bones, his screams, the one who fell still one last time only to have it irreversible-

Steve shut down that thought before it could bring back memories that he had tried and failed for so long to suppress. This man had to be taken to Bruce, immediately. There was no time to waste, they had a chance at winning again-

“You’ve taken me to Banner,” He said, as if reading his mind. “You were training me.” His lips curved downwards, almost into a pout. “It’s been a couple of loops, now. You seem to enjoy shooting me in the head.”

Well, that explained the anger.

-

Tony was getting sick of having to roll under the car to escape- he had died two extra times with poorly timed movements- but he kept coming, dutifully, even when he knew that he was going to his death. What was death now, anyway? He’d fear it when it was permanent.

Even so, he could barely stop himself flinching back from the claws as they shot past him. They hurt, damn it, and Rogers had no sympathy for him, standing over by the button with that pained look on his face, like he was the one dying every loop.

Tony was getting a little sick of that look, the one he got every time when Rogers realized he had to train an idiot, and it was the only thing that kept him going- the idea that one loop, god only know how many from now, he wouldn’t know how useless Tony Stark used to be.

When one of the claws skittered past him, he aimed a repulsor blast, and the thing exploded, showing parts of machinery all over the floor. He didn’t hesitate, after- he learnt his lesson the hard way. He remembered what was coming, which would hit him, and immediately threw himself into a forward roll, missing death by inches.

He allowed himself a smile when Rogers called out a compliment, and kept on fighting, ducking and diving out of the way. He tried not to think about what was coming when, dedicating himself to remembering the pattern, but it was hard not to flinch away, knowing that if he stood there for any time longer he would be sailing through the air again.

He was knocked off his feet a few more times, and every time he knew the Captain was groaning to himself, wondering why he got dumped with a useless idiot. With that knowledge, he grit his teeth against the pain and got up before Rogers could turn the machines off. He fought against the burn in his lungs, the aching protest of the muscles in his legs, knowing that he couldn’t succumb to discomfort in the field.

They spent hours there, every loop, Rogers surprise putting him out of his misery whenever the night fell and lights off began to restart and give them more time. He didn’t know how many days they spent there training, but eventually Rogers admitted he was fine with his repulsors, and they swapped to the guns in the suit.

“You should mostly stick to your melee,” Steve told him as he checked over the suit one loop, eyeing the cracks in the armour with a critical eye. “You can’t run out of melee, while running out of bullets is far too easy.” His words were distant, vague, and Tony knew he was speaking from personal experience.

Guns took almost twice that time, Tony struggling to reload. He swore that if he got out of this, he was going to go over the designs again because dropping the empty cases to the floor and fumbling at your leg for the deposits was not convenient in the slightest, and he couldn’t help but wonder how many soldiers it had gotten killed.

It got him killed, many times. Once, he had struggled with reloading for so long once of the machines clipped him again, spinning him into the path of another, that knocked him out again, throwing him across half the practise floor and dropping him on the ground heavily.

The helm cracked against the floor, only just protecting his skull, and Tony would have been grateful if there wasn’t twin sickening cracks, and the sensation of fire ripping through both of his legs. “Shit!” He cursed, testing the rest of his body, and he could move everything except his legs. The machines slowed around him, circling him almost smugly.

He heard footfalls coming towards him, and he knew Rogers had his gun out again.

 “Hold on!” Tony protested, squirming. “I’m okay, I’m fine, seriously.” He clawed his way across the practise floor as Rogers approached, pain flaring up as he dragged his broken legs across the floor, and he looked up when Rogers’ boots thudded next to his face. He was looking down at him, pitifully, and Tony huffed, dropping his head against the floor. “Okay, do it.”

He jerked awake on the bags, ears barely registering the sound of the soldiers and the loudspeaker, and growled a curse.

Fucking _Rogers._

After guns, it was melee, and Tony was so relieved the torment of training was nearly at an end he almost cried. Rogers gave him a military issue baton, similar to his own, and Tony tested it in his hands, frowning at it. It was surprisingly light for such a large object, and he went to twirl it, spinning his wrist. He almost immediately dropped it.

Rogers’ eyes were judgemental, but he didn’t comment. He dropped to his knees in front of Tony, and pointed at the straps on his right thigh. “You made this armour,” He said. “You know how to strap this up, yeah?”

“Yeah, I got it. Don’t worry about me.”

“I think I will, actually.” Rogers said, getting up. Tony rolled his eyes, and Rogers made his way back to the button, and Tony prepped himself for the machines to start moving, holding the baton in front of him defensively- but he dropped out of his position when the Captain kept moving, straight past the button. He cocked his head to one side. “Where are you going?”

“To suit up.” He called back, over his shoulder, and when the implication set in, Tony was that much closer to crying.

-

Rogers was a machine.

Tony had felt bad for the Chitauri the first time, when he watched the Captain destroy them like they were nothing, and he now had a new found sympathy for them. Having Steve Rogers wipe the floor with you was not a fun feeling.

Tony went down with a kick to the chest, grunting when he hit the floor. The baton clattered out of his hand, falling across the floor and lying too far from him to be bothered to get up and grab. He lay there for a moment, panting, and for once Rogers was kind enough to let him be.

 “I hope you run me this ragged in the bedroom,” Tony managed as he gasped for breath, flat out on the floor. His lungs felt like they were full of lava. “Because it would be the best sex.”

Rogers didn’t flush anymore, to his great disappointment. “I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.”

“Come on, we have to fuck at some point.” Tony whined. “Even if it’s post-battle celebratory hate sex- ouch!”

Rogers had trod firmly on his hand on his way to pick up Tony’s baton, in the suit, and Tony wondered if his fingers were broken as he jerked away, cradling his hand to his chest. They certainly felt broken. “That was cruel, Rogers.” He scolded, and Rogers only rolled his eyes.

“Get up.” He commanded, tossing Tony’s baton onto his chest, and he grumbled, but did. “We’re going again, and as soon as you’re good at this, I’ll be turning the machines back on and we’ll be sparing with them.”

Tony’s brows furrowed. “What happens if you die?”

“Take my gun and shoot yourself.” Rogers told him, in a tone of voice that suggested it was the stupidest question he had ever been asked, and Tony dropped the baton, covered his face with his hands and groaned, kicking at the floor as if it had wronged him. He heard his trainer sigh, exasperated.

“This is ridiculous,” He dragged his hands down his face, slowly, shaking his head. Rogers made a grunt of agreement. “Can’t I just… give the power to you, somehow? I mean, this thing’s in my blood, so can’t I just give you a transfusion or something?”

Steve narrowed his eyes. “I’ve tried everything. It doesn’t work like that.”

Tony looked at him, a particular thought coming to the front of his mind. “But did you try all the options?”

The Captain looked at him, blankly, and it was the most awkward moment of Tony’s life. “ _All_ the options?” He prompted, again, stressing his words, and then bucking his hips a little in the blond’s direction.

The confusion cleared up, to be replaced by thinly veiled annoyance. “You mean sex.” He shook his head, disbelieving. “You have a very one track mind, don’t you? Yes, I tried it.”

Tony paused. “How many times?”

“Okay,” Steve said, stomping one foot against the ground and lifting his baton, and smacking Tony directly across the face with it.

-

“You need to do better,” Rogers managed between blows, all of them striking Tony’s chest and pushing him further back, his feet grinding against the stone floor. Tony grit his teeth, trying to stand strong against the hits and held his weapon firmly, deflecting them as well as he could. It wasn’t good enough. Steve had knocked him back half a dozen times already.

Tony had managed to push Rogers back into the path of the machines only once, and watched with horror as he had crashed back into the wall. He hadn’t gotten up, or said a word even as Tony inched closer, and Tony assumed he was dead. He confirmed it by nudging him with a foot, and Rogers’ head had lolled to one side, limply.

He had had to fumble the gun from his waist, quickly as to avoid discovery, and had to take a few breaths before starting the day over again.

“I’ll have you know that this is difficult,” Tony managed between pants, his voice the closest to a growl as he could get it. He tried to push back against the Captain, and succeeded in forcing him back a few steps, but Rogers was on him again quicker than Tony expected.

“I know it is,” Rogers said, not sounding the least bit empathetic as he went this time for Tony’s knees, trying to catch him off guard. He saw it coming, however, and sidestepped him and swiped at his side. He hit him heavily, and Rogers staggered back, but recovered quickly. “But it needs to be done. I can’t have you useless in the middle of battle. We’re trying to save the world, here.”

“I’m not really a save the world kind of guy,” Tony spun around, and they circled each other for a moment, steps careful and steady, careful not to wander into the path. They weren’t Tony main issue right now. “Not really one to take the fall for fellow man, you know?”

Rogers’ eyes were polished stone. “You say that like it’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

Tony grinned at him, ignoring the little pang in his chest and pretending it never existed- Tony Stark never felt hurt. “Whatever, Cap.” He took the initiative this time, lunging forward with a blow aimed towards his opponent’s stomach. Rogers stood there and took it, but stepped to one side and spun, lashing out for Tony’s head. It was too quick to dodge, and Tony refused to show how much it hurt. He kept his smile up and refused to fall, smacking the baton out of the way with his own.

“There’s always another way out for you, isn’t there?” Rogers’ voice was quiet, barely audible over the whir. “Always something to let you do the least amount of work as possible.”

“What’s wrong with that?” Tony asked, genuinely confused. He let Rogers chase him back, waiting for the right moment to strike, preparing himself for his next blow. “Isn’t that more convenient?”

Rogers looked at him, contempt in his eyes like he was the worst type of scum, and before Tony could move knocked him back, into the path of the claw. His face was the last thing he saw before he was whipped around, and slammed against the wall.

He waited impatiently for the sounds he had grown used to, waited to feel the firm bags beneath his back and the stuttering sounds of the engines, but they never came.

Instead, there was quiet, and darkness.

He didn’t like that any better than the repetition.

He didn’t exist, for the briefest of moments. For that moment, there was nothing, no life, everything still. There was no noise. And then, after a beat, the darkness was lifted away, the blindfold removed from his eyes and he was Tony Stark again, alive and lost and so very vulnerable.

It was cold where he was, so cold, like his entire body was bathed in ice water. His vision was only a blanket of white, and he could see no details, like he was trapped in a blizzard. He may have been- he could only hear incessant whistling, perhaps the sound of whispers, illegible voices that might have been trying to guide him. He sucked in a breath, and it filled his lungs with snow.

Tony focused as well as he could, battling through the terror that built up inside, shivering the cold. He had only just begun to settle into the loop- as much as he could settle into something that shouldn’t have been happening- and now he was jerked out of his comfort zone, without Rogers or Banner to advise him. He was afraid, so afraid, and he was beginning to panic, he couldn’t see, _he couldn’t see-_

Then, he could see, and what he saw was the truth.

There was a long stretch of land, covered in thick snow, the terrain uneven and rocky in places. He stood in it, slowly freezing, and he wondered if this was it, if he was going to die here of all places. He could see nothing but the stretch of white and the grey of the sky, all colours dead and no other life to be seen. He wanted to move, but found he couldn’t, unable to even lift his feet. Wondering if he was frozen, he tried to look down- and couldn’t even do that. His head was unmovable.

He blinked- and then it had changed, like the scenery had been ripped away while his eyes were closed and replaced. Now, there was a building amongst great mountains, built of unfeeling grey stone, tall and thin. Still, he could see nothing but snow and ice, and the howling only lifted in pitch, becoming louder, and if Tony didn’t know better, he would have said more desperate. He blinked again, and it had changed to become a blur of silver and grey, flashes of yellow that he recognized as warning signs in a language he could understand but disappeared too quickly for his mind to automatically translate. He could see steel grates, doors and walkways, everything in the same uniform grey, touched by frost. He saw flashes of abandoned hallways, and he wondered if the voices were from the people who once walked them, from who knew how long past.

Then, the flashes came in slower succession, like gradual snapshots of his path down the hall, juddering and trembling as he walked, and yet couldn’t walk. He came to an open area, a kind of tower, with a large hole in the middle of the floor. Unable to control himself, the vision led him down, peering into its depths-

Tony was greeted by the sight of the Omega, lying on the surface, a massive thing, terrible and monstrous, shifting and pulsing and reaching out for _him_ -

He was almost relieved when he jerked awake with a short scream, back against the bags, Heathrow bustling around him.

-

The lights flickered on just as hesitantly as they did the first time around, and Tony growled _come on, come on_ as he took the stairs two at a time, thumping down, and sweeping across the room, not bothering to shut the door behind him. Even if he was seen, it didn’t matter- when Rogers joined him, it would be firmly shut and locked anyway.

Tony ripped the tarp off of the table and brought it to life with a touch, watching with impatience as the white circle formed then spread, forming all of the information he had already seen before too slow for his liking. There wasn’t any time to waste.

“Steve, what are you doing? I told you to give me some-” Bruce said, stepping down the stairs, and then his eyes fell on Tony. They narrowed, dangerously. “Hey, what the hell are you-”

“Relax, he’s with me.” Rogers said, close behind him. He hurried him down his a hand on his shoulder, expression one of barely contained excitement, like a child coming down the stairs on Christmas morning. Tony didn’t blame him. “You’ve met him before- well you, haven’t, but we’ve spoken about this before. He’s me, before Verdun. Banner, he’s had the vision.”

“Shit.” Banner breathed, and then he was hurrying too, coming along as the images finally completed their formation. “I’m guessing we’ve all had this conversation before, but where did you die? When?”

“On the beach, tomorrow.” Tony said briskly, before Rogers could open his mouth. Banner frowned, put an arm behind his back, and Tony huffed out a sigh. “You recognise me, I’m Tony Stark. You’re Bruce Banner. You used to be a doctor, you have four fingers behind your back, now can we please just get this show started?”

Caught off guard, Bruce brought his arm forward again, his four fingers curling back into a complete fist. “Okay, okay.” He murmured, like he was trying to get everything straight in his head. Tony felt a little guilty, for both of them. He had swept down on them, a complete surprise, telling them they had already met- dozens of times before, in Rogers’ case- and that he had the visions. “You had them? You saw the Omega?”

Tony nodded in confirmation, and Bruce grimaced, running a hand through his hair and leaving streaks of oil. Tony was somehow still surprised at how bone tired the man looked. “Okay, right.” He eventually managed, and moved across to the table, touching the screen. He left little fingerprints, and while Tony winced inwardly, it wasn’t the time to be nit-picky. “Do you know where? At all? I know it’s a big world out there-”

Tony had thought the same at first, feeling overwhelmed, but on the way to Rogers, he had time to think about it after the vision had sunk in. “It was a dam,” He said, confidently. “It was snowy, and there were mountains. I saw signs in German, but I can’t say what they read.”

Rogers was frowning deeply by Tony’s side, arms nearly pressed together, and he could hear his gentle breaths. He had never stood so close outside of combat. “Can you figure out where that is?” He asked, worried, and Bruce made a noncommittal sound in the back of his throat.

“Well, there can’t be too many places that fit that description, but like I said, it’s a big world out there.”

Tense, Rogers began to drum his fingers against the side of the table- not noticing Banner’s look of irritation. “When can you have the destination by?”

“I don’t know.” Banner said, apologetically, and Rogers sighed, rubbing at his temple. “I can only say I’ll let you know as soon as I find it.”

“Right.” He pushed himself off of the table, brushing past Tony. “Thank you.” He said, but it was said distractedly, like he was already dreaming up tactics, imaging scenarios and how he could twist them for his benefit. He looked to Tony with vague, cloudy eyes. “I’ll be seeing you tomorrow, then. Your training’s over.”

“Uh,” Tony started, his brows furrowing. “I don’t think you were done with me.”

“It doesn’t matter. You’ve had your visions, and you can learn first-hand on the battlefield tomorrow, yes?”

“We don’t even know where we’re going, yet.” Tony protested, even as Rogers wandered up the stairs, unlocking the door. Banner kept his head down low, fingers already flying across the keypad on the surface, staying firmly out of the argument. “We can’t just leave tomorrow!”

“We’ll know our destination soon enough.” Rogers assured him, pushing it open. He gave him one last pointed look before he disappeared. “In the meantime you need to figure out a way to get us off that beach.”

 


	4. faith

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony struggles to get Steve off of the beach.

“Don’t go too far!” Rogers was screaming over the sounds of the war, reaching into a wounded Chitauri and tearing out whatever passed as its entrails. It went with a sickening sound, and the creature went limp. Dropping it unceremoniously to the ground, he moved on, formally introducing his baton to the face of another, stomping on its throat the moment it was downed. Rogers was a marvel, a hurricane ripping through the world, and Tony was a paper bag caught in the wind.

“I won’t, don’t worry!” Tony shouted back, on his hands and knees, crawling away from the thick of the fray. “I’m hit.”

He heard Rogers curse, colourfully as he hunkered down underneath what appeared to be a piece of a dropship. He lay as low as he could, hoping any Chitauri that came close would think he was dead, all smeared in blood and muck. There were corpses all around him, from both sides, and they were barely an hour from touchdown. And he had been hit- some moron wildly shooting in a panic, unless amazingly the Chitauri had managed to figure out how to use guns.

He tried not to think about how once upon a time, he had been that moron.

He was bleeding out, slowly, sluggishly, nowhere quick enough. He wondered if he should restart the day, save Rogers the trouble of tearing apart the nearby Chitauri, but he was so tired of dying, having to run through the entire day just to get to Rogers, and just to die in some increasingly bullshit way every loop. He just wanted to have one day where he wasn’t being trained or grilled about what happened last in the fight, where to turn, when to duck, which Chitauri to kill first. He lay slumped, catching his breath, feeling the wet and warm patch in the clothes underneath his ruined armour spread.

Rogers was finished cleaning house, and surveyed his surroundings for any more of the creepy crawly bastards before rounding on Tony, stomping his way across to him. Tony waited for the nagging to begin, like it always did.

“You’re not being specific enough!” Rogers growled for what felt like the thousandth time, dropping his weapon to the sand and leaning over him. He went straight for the worst of the cracks in the armour, eyes moving on the dents and scratches.

“I didn’t know this was going to happen!” Tony bit back, hissing when Rogers’ gloved fingers slipped inside the hole and probed at the skin around the wound. “We haven’t got this far yet.”

“Well, we barely made it here.” He couldn’t argue with that- it was true. Five minutes after landing Tony had nearly gotten decapitated by a drone after forgetting that it clawed its way out of the sand, and Rogers almost lost an eye defending him. “You need to remember it. You have to guide me off this beach, or we’re all dead.”

“Yeah, I know,” Tony grunted, shifting up, back against the metal. Judging by the look Rogers had on his face, this wasn’t going to have a happy ending. “You’ve said it before.”

“Well, you better start listening.” Rogers told him, firmly, pulling out his gun, taking aim, and pulling the trigger.

-

“No, not yet!” Tony threw out an arm to stop Rogers from advancing, barrelling ahead to initiate combat with one of the drones, standing over a corpse of a soldier with its claws wet with blood. He pushed him down, forcing him to lie on his belly on a small slope, remaining out of sight. The Chitauri wasn’t moving, just flexing its claws into the damp sand, growling softly.

“Stark,” Rogers said worriedly, warningly, and Tony hushed him, counting for a few beats and then standing up to the let the creature see him before he could protest. It spotted him, head jerking around, and it snarled, spitting everywhere, and bounded forward- and a truck slammed into it, taking it down, dragging it underneath the wheels. Rogers recoiled, stunned, and Tony grinned helplessly.

“It got the both of you last time,” Tony clarified, moving his arm away. “They really need to look where they’re going. Come on, we have to hurry.” He took point, hurrying over the slope without waiting for Rogers to follow. He moved quicker than he ever had before, growing used to the heavy weight of the suit, and this time, whenever a Chitauri got a little too close for comfort he could bring it down before it got its claws in him.

Rogers followed closely at his heels, always within reaching distance. He was panting heavily, avoiding what drones he could but striking them down if necessary, occasionally dropping in to save soldiers inches from death. That was his job, to keep anyone he could alive- Tony’s was to keep on moving, to guide them out of the field.

Rogers cried out a warning to Tony, one he was anticipating and the Captain veered off course to help a soldier being dragged across the sand, hands scrambling for grip. He readied his repulsors, lifting him palm to aim.

“Don’t!” Tony yelled to him, and Rogers stopped dead, lowering his hand an inch. “He can’t be saved. Trust me.”

He looked hesitant, looking between his charge and the soldier, expression torn, but Tony shoved at his shoulder. “You’ve tried everything.” He explained. “You just die with him. You can only see one drone, but trust me. There’s more of them waiting.”

Rogers expression shifted as he steeled himself, even as the soldier was screaming, and looked firmly at the space between Tony’s eyes, as if he feared if he looked anywhere else, he would be lost. “Okay.” He agreed, and when his voice was weak, he cleared his throat. “Okay.”

Tony pulled him away, before he could see the soldier die. “We need to go straight ahead, but not too fast- there’s an explosion. After that, run ahead for five seconds and then duck to the left. Stay right behind me.” He turned away and leisurely ran across the terrain, careful not to slip and loose his footing, focusing less on the targets around him and more on the timing.

He halted for a split second, just before the explosion tore up the ground in front of him, and waited for it to settle, feeling Rogers smack against his back at the sudden stop. Sidestepping, he gestured for the Captain to follow. He ran straight ahead, lips silently forming around the numbers as he counted, and then threw himself to the left, hands covering his head, just before another explosion that would take him off his feet could strike.

He heard a cry, cut abruptly short, and he looked up, pulling his hands away and peering out. He rolled onto his side, trying to find the spot where Rogers would be lying beside him- and found it empty.

He shot up, quickly, and his gaze swept around the battlefield, searching for his companion. “Cap?” He called out, frowning- and then he saw the familiar armour, strewn in multiple tiny pieces across the ground. He could see the little shield on one of the fractured bits.

Tony stared at what little pieces remained, gesturing at them uselessly, words struggling to come. “I said the _left,_ dumbass.”

-

“Okay, go straight ahead and stay right behind me, they’ll be an explosion we have to go around. Then, we’ll run ahead for five seconds and then duck to the left, to the _left.”_ Tony was already pulling him away, tugging at his forearm. “To the left, you understand?”

“I think I have to go to the left.” Rogers said, dryly. “But I’m not sure where I’m getting that idea from.”

“Oh, ha ha, asshole.” Tony said, only a tad affectionately. Rogers rarely let it show, but over the loops Tony had discovered that sometimes, when he felt more comfortable around a person, he had a sarcastic sense of humour to rival Rhodey’s. “Get going, I’m not having you die on me again.”

“Yessir,” Rogers’ voice only became drier, like bleached bone, and he shoved Tony along, sprinting behind him, moving as a unit. Tony moved himself to Roger’s tempo, anticipating every movement, and when the time came he grabbed Rogers and practically hurled him to the left, following straight after, landing atop him. He waited until the explosion sounded and it settled before crawling clumsily off of him without a word. Rogers got up in a showier fashion, like a gymnast, and Tony tried not to hate him in that moment. “What now?”

“Run, just run. You go first. There’ll be a drone coming for you head on, you deal with that while I take the one to the right.”

“Remember to use your baton when you can,” Rogers warned, even as he started running, readying his repulsor. “You don’t want to run out of ammo.”

“Alright, mom.” Tony scowled, and Rogers laughed, the pleasant sound caught in the slight wind. Tony reached for his weapon, testing it in his grip again, preparing. He caught up with his Captain, counting down, and yelled, “Now!”

Rogers’ doomed creature clawed its way out of remnants of useless technology on the ground, the ridges of its back scraping against the metal, and its eyes zeroed in on what it thought would be its next victim. Little did it know. Rogers greeted it with a furious sound, as Tony’s own drone leapt out, seemingly from nowhere, pulsing and glitching, ready to kill. But Tony was fully prepared, and he beat it senseless, pinning it to the ground and crushing its head with several forceful blows. He gave it a repulsor blast to the head for good measure- he had learnt his lesson several times over- before stepping back, and looking to Rogers.

“I have no idea what happens next.” Tony said, cheerfully, and Rogers rolled his eyes.

“We’ll make it up as we go.” He said, looking out towards his surroundings. There still seemed to be no way out, as far as they could see. Tony wondered for just how long the beach went on, and if they were simply going in circles. “But you need to remember what we make up.”

-

Tony smoothed a hand down his face, sweeping from his hairline to his chin, and he didn’t care that he was leaving a trail of thick blood. He was pretty sure it was his own, still slightly warm, but after everything, he was too tired to care.

The battle still raged around him, the shouting and the roaring all background noise, so familiar to him it seemed all the same. He was crouched down, as safe as he could be behind cover, and he basked in the brief moment of peace, eyes closed. JARVIS was silent in his headset. He had silenced him, finding him useless during the replayed moments, and he didn’t need the distraction.

He half wished he had kept him on, for company’s sake. The new found loneliness was a gaping hole in his chest, growing larger and deeper every second, tugging at his sore muscles and tired heart.

Beside him, Rogers lay face up in the mud, his armour shredded. The Chitauri that killed him was in even more pieces, Tony had made sure of that. Roger’s face was covered in blood, just like Tony’s, with a split lip, broken nose and gash across his temple. The killing wound was on his chest.

He got up on unsteady feet, looking between the two of them- friend and foe, just as dead as the other. He took in deep breaths, each quicker than the last, running a hand through his hair but fumbling, confused, not sure what to do, how to keep all of this up when he was running himself ragged, getting lost in the directions of left, right, straight ahead, right, right again, wait for a few seconds and then go-

“Fuck!” He shouted, suddenly furious, and kicked at the enemy’s head, separated completely from its shoulders. It went flying across the field before disappearing from sight, and Tony vaguely, desperately entertained the notion of a career in soccer. _No,_ he eventually decided, giving the corpse a swift kick. _Too much hard exercise._ He had had enough physical training for a lifetime, it felt.

The anger was gone almost as quickly as it arrived, replaced with exhaustion that came deep from his bones, and he settled back down next to Rogers, reaching out and lightly touching his back. It was too late for soothing, he had long since choked on his last breath. Tony drew light, mindless patterns on the armour despite this.

People were dying around him, and if he sat there for too long, he would be next.

He stared Rogers’ gun out for a few long moments, before sighing, and restarting the day.

-

“I’ve found where the Omega is,” Bruce started, excitedly, practically thrumming with enthusiasm, the closest thing to a smile Tony had seen, and even Rogers was grinning-

Tony slammed both his hands down on the table, palms thudding against it, and the smiles immediately slipped from their faces.

“I know you have!” He roared, voice so much louder than he had intended it to be, filling the small room, and Bruce flinched away, while Rogers stood fast. “You already have, a ridiculous amount of times. Bavarian Alps, in Germany, it’s hiding in a fucking dam, we know.” He straightened up, frustration written all over his face, in every tense line of his body. “Our problem is getting off the beach.”

“If you just keep guiding me, if you just remember all of your steps-”

“I have!” Tony interrupted, gesturing sharply, cutting the air. Rogers immediately shut up. “I have, every single loop, but we keep dying. We’re not making it anywhere close to get out. We’re not getting anywhere.”

Rogers and Banner exchanged uncertain glances. Banner stepped slightly away from the two of them, timidly, while Rogers turned to face him. “I know it may seem a little overwhelming-”

“A little?” Tony burst out, ignoring the flicker of aggravation he saw temporarily in Rogers’ eyes, no doubt for being talked over, again. “Oh, well, having to figure out how to get started to save the fucking world, oh it’s just a little overwhelming don’t you worry-“

“You’re becoming hysterical.”

“I have the right to be hysterical, thank you so much, I’ve seen you die more times than I can count, I’ve actually had to kill myself more times than I can count!” Tony felt deeply offended by the Captain’s soft tone, the way he looked at him so sympathetically. He needed the guidance, he would happily admit, but he didn’t need to be treated like a child. “This isn’t working out, Rogers.”

The Captain shook his head and took a swift step forward, coming into Tony’s space, and when he took a step backward in response, he only moved into it again, taking his shoulders in a firm and warm grip. “Tony,” He said, gently, quietly, privately for him. Banner averted his eyes, not wanting to be witness to such a moment. “You can do this.” Before Tony could begin protesting despite the warmth growing his chest, he shook his shoulders lightly, and hushed him, like a fussy baby. “You can.” He ducked his head, letting Tony see him, and smiled, reassuringly. “You just keep coming to me, every day, and I’ll train you.”

The smallest amount of hope that Rogers had just inspired, reaching up gradually to the surface where the sunlight waited suddenly shrivelled up and died. Tony sneered, lip curling, and Rogers leant back, expression odd. Tony shrugged off his hands, knocking them free.

 “Trust me, Captain. You already have.” Tony said, and not even Steve had an answer for that.

-

_One more time,_ Tony thought, _just once more, you can do this._

“Stay down!” He cried out to Rogers, who immediately ducked back down into his cover, blond hair disappearing. Tony immediately turned back and filled the approaching Chitauri with bullets, spraying it until it stayed down for good, only twitching. JARVIS clamoured for his attention, signs popping up desperately in his HUD, telling him to urgently reload.

While the other two advanced, not even the least bit cautious after seeing what he did to the other, Tony swapped his gun for his repulsor. He didn’t have the time to reload, to piss about with the suit, and so he fired it up and sidestepped, quickly, hoping to lead them away from Roger’s position.

“Hey, ugly.” He crowed, hoping to keep their attention, and the monsters both hissed, thick muscles shifting beneath the skin as they moved, still glitching towards him. He had done this before, once- he could take out the first of them, and with Rogers out of the picture temporarily, he could avoid its attack with a roll and maybe try to catch its softer, mostly unguarded underbelly-

“Tony!” Rogers called out, panicked, and Tony didn’t turn, he couldn’t at the risk of being killed, but one of the drones in front of him went down in a sudden haze of bullets. Then, Rogers’ gun abruptly jammed- _again-_ and the Captain made a bewildered noise that made Tony laugh the first time round. Now, he had nothing to laugh about.

Before the other creature could respond, even look the Captain’s way, Tony ran at it, firing a shot at it. It struck its chest and while it staggered back with a wail, it remained in two feet and came in fast- and Tony greeted it with a high kick to the chest, and then another repulsor blast. It hit the ground, dead, and Rogers made an impressed sounding noise from his post.

Tony rounded on him, letting his repulsors die, and as soon as Rogers saw the look on his face, he went very pale.

“I told you to stay down!” Tony hollered across the beach, storming up to where Rogers stood, looking like a rabbit caught in headlights as he watched him approach. He took a step back, with huge eyes.

“No, I just-”

“No!” Tony thundered, seeing red, and Rogers shut his mouth so hard his teeth clicked together. “You ask me to guide you, and then you don’t follow my instructions. That might have gotten you killed in loops before. If you’re going to drag me into this with you, _do what you’re told.”_

Rogers looked frankly afraid, maybe a little bashful with new splotches of red high on his cheeks. “Yes, I’m sorry.” He looked past Tony, at the two corpses. “I just thought you needed my help.” Tony snorted, dismissively, and Rogers looked down at his weapon. “Why couldn’t I-“

“Your gun always gets jammed.” He said between his teeth, and Rogers didn’t ask for clarification at _always_. He didn’t need it. He reached for Rogers’ guns, hitting them harshly, and ejected the magazine and promptly reloading. He did the same to his own, quickly, fully aware of the tense silence between them. When done, he looked up to issue his new orders, but the look on Rogers’ face stopped him.

“I’m sorry.” He said, quietly, and Tony’s anger, while still there, lost a little of its fire. “I’ve been a bit of an asshole.”

Tony laughed. “While it’s nice that you admit it, I really doubt you’re going to be remembering this. I doubt this is the loop where we make it.”

“Then I want you to know that no matter how many loops from now, I’m always sorry.” His eyes were large and earnest, and at that moment, Rogers- no, Steve- could have convinced him that the world was flat. And Tony couldn’t help but not care about how ridiculous they were- two idiots standing staring at each other in hell itself, having a mushy moment.

Tony shook his head, jerking himself out of the moment. “It’s fine,” He said hurriedly, dismissively. “Come on, we shouldn’t be- we have to go.” He jerked his head, punching Steve’s arm lightly, and they were off again, like nothing ever happened between them.

They lasted only a few more minutes, of ducking and running, taking cover and fighting for their lives. For a while, Tony was so hopeful, so convinced that for once they may actually make it.

When Tony bled out from a cut to his throat, Steve leaning over him and smoothing back hair from his forehead, pressing the cold metal of the gun against his head to save him the pain, he felt awful that Steve wasn’t going to remember the way he had apologised so sincerely for being an ass, for more than one reason.

From then on, he went back to Rogers in Tony’s mind.

-

_Once more,_ he had promised himself, _once more._

He remained completely silent throughout his walk of shame, not saying a peep to Coulson, no matter how much he tried to rile him up. He only listened as he was sentenced to death, threatened, bullied. When J squad taunted him, he stared at them, expressionless, until they stopped. He could hear the whispers, see the strange looks, but he didn’t care. He had seen so much more of them, things that made them tiny in comparison, and he didn’t care what they thought.

A little part of him wondered if he cared what Rogers thought, even if he didn’t know he should think it- if that made any sense. It didn’t to Tony.

When the time came for him to escape from Coulson’s clutches and make his way to Rogers, he would admit, he paused. He had already drawn Coulson’s ire, given himself the opportunity to leave, but how much of it had been said out of instinct? The cars were rumbling up the road, time slipping away as he thought. If he wanted to act, he had to do it now, before the cars were gone.

He could try to make it through again. They might have been so close, only feet away from freedom, and they wouldn’t have known.

But how long would he be trying for?

He looked to the hangar were Steve practised his yoga, simmering because of Pierce, completely oblivious to the man who knew him and bore his power, and then hardened his heart. He continued doing his push ups, the third and final car going by with no ceremony, no recognition that it was his final chance, one he let slip by like it was nothing.

The day went by in a blur, all training and empty words from the soldiers about how glorious their victory would be, until it was finally lights out, and then Tony crept out of bed as quietly as possible as soon as he was sure the others were fast asleep.

It took him multiple loops, each as sullen and miserable as the last, before he successfully made it out of Heathrow. He had stolen a motorcycle, using his loops to check which was unguarded and how he could make it out mostly undetected, and eventually he found himself speeding down the M4, roads not as busy as they would ever been as the dark sky lightened with the arrival of the sun, considering the dangers of invasion and the time. Most people, or rather, more intelligent people would have been tucked away at home, unable to sleep, fearing what the next day would bring. Desertion, overall, was all too easy. Who cared for one stray soldier when there was a battle to be fought?

Dawn had officially broken by the time he drove by Charing Cross station, and he had planned to keep on moving, driving until his head was finally clear of all this drone and Omega nonsense, but then he saw something that would help even better- a pub, that had a sign outside that declared it open.

Before he could change his mind, before he could think of all the promises that he had made Pepper years ago when she had kept finding him locked away stinking of booze, oil and sweat, he pulled over, just outside it. Dismounting, he dropped the bike and let it smash to the floor. What did he care about the damages? It wasn’t his.

He barely gave the pub a second glance as he entered, not caring how it looked or what it sold, but the door squeaked loudly as he pushed it open, and the people inside looked up. There weren’t many, only a few old men who hadn’t been called away to war, but they were all sat huddled together in one corner, looking up from their drinks to squint suspiciously at him. He greeted them with a sharp nod, and they didn’t pay back the same courtesy, staring back down at the amber liquid in their glasses like they could read their fortune in it.

Tony let the door fall shut behind him, and looked to the dimly lit bar instead, where the barmaid waited, her expression as sour as the lemons she was cutting. He claimed the seat furthest away from the others as he could, not wanting to be bothered, and waved her over. He barely understood why the place was open if the first place, but maybe, it was for the regulars, one last time.

She clicked over to him on heels, leaning against the bar. “What’ll you have?” She asked, in a tone that told Tony she didn’t give much of a damn either way.

_The most expensive shit you’ll give me,_ he almost asked, had been planning to ask, but then he thought about Pepper, the way she pressed her lips so tightly together when the heady smell of alcohol would greet her, the way she so clearly held her tongue when she wanted to ask him to _talk to her, Tony, why won’t you talk?_ It didn’t matter now, he knew it didn’t, so he didn’t understand why he swallowed back his words and drummed his fingers against the aged wood that had nicks and chunks taken out of it before saying, “Water, please.”

She looked at him as if he was joking, for a moment, but after they stared each other down for a long moment, she moved away, grabbing a hopefully clean glass. He was glad for that. She had blue eyes- watery and pale, not strong and deep, but blue eyes none the less. She was back in less than a second, grunting at him when he thanked her, and he took a deep breath and a deeper gulp.

For a moment, she looked like she had a burning question she wanted to ask. Tony must have looked a sight, with a face like someone had kicked his pet, in a fancy suit in central London they day war was being waged, a war he should have been called to. Little did she know. He waited for the question to be asked, but she decided against it, moving along to run a rag against the bar even though it was only early, nothing could have happened to it. Tony peered at it, and it was spotless. He supposed it was something for her to do to busy her hands, something to distract herself from the awful silence.

He half wished he had stayed on the bike. There, he could lose himself in the ride, the sound of the engine and the wind whipping past, not having to think about anything but freedom, not being dragged about by Coulson or Rogers, a pawn in someone else’s sick game. Here, the silence tore at him gradually, taking him apart bit by bit, letting him imagine what was happening on the beach, how he could have prevented it.

It was too late now, anyway. He could only sit and regret everything.

He didn’t know how long he sat there. He measured time in refills, and three glasses of water later he was running his finger along the rim of a glass of cranberry juice. He had only taken a sip, out of politeness. The barmaid had eventually given it to him without a word, probably sick of giving him tap water. He had offered her money, but she only shook her head, and gestured to a small sign he hadn’t noticed before, just above her head- _DRINKS FREE AT THE END OF THE WORLD._

He wondered if she was clairvoyant or just pessimistic, but either way, he didn’t press the issue.

He heard his first voice not long afterwards, a mutter from one of the old men in the corner. “I wonder how the boys are doing,” He said, in an almost conversational manner, like he was talking about sons of his, but everyone knew exactly who he meant. Tony wondered if the man had sons, over in France. “My father fought in the Battle of Britain, all those years ago. Before these Yanks came in, muscling in like they always do.”

Tony listened half-heartedly, not giving his full attention but not blocking it out. In the silence, it was hard to do. _I wonder how the boys are doing, indeed._ By now, he wondered how long the battle had been waged, if J squad had lost that one member, if they had even all died. By that point, Rogers- _Steve-_ would be long dead, struck down by the Chitauri Tony was meant to save him from.

He wanted to be sick. He pushed the glass away, battling against the uneasiness in his own stomach.

“What do they want from us, anyway?” The barmaid wondered aloud, leaning against the bar. She had run out of things to do and instead bit at her nails, worrying them down to the quick.

“Well, it’s obvious, isn’t it?” Another man said boisterously, in that all knowing way people over the age of fifty seemed to have perfected. He had a flushed red face with small, broken veins in his nose, a vague tremble to his hands as he lifted his drink to his mouth- the signs of a dedicated drinker. “Minerals.”

That broke even Tony from his thoughts, and he looked to them frowning, as his friends parroted ‘Minerals?’ in similarly confused tones.

“Well, yeah.” He said, defensively. “Think about it, it’s obvious.”

“What minerals?”

“Oxygen!” He declared, grinning as if he was letting them in on a secret. “Oxygen, it is-”

“That’s bullshit,” Tony found himself interrupting, his mouth running away with him. The old man immediately fell quiet, challenged and silenced probably for the first time in his life, and they all turned to stare. He hadn’t meant to draw such attention to himself, but it seemed that wherever he went, he was destined to make a scene. He supposed it made sense. He was Tony Stark, after all. “That’s bullshit,” He repeated, quieter. “And it doesn’t even matter, anyway. They’re here, and no doubt winning.” He thought of lifeless blue eyes, faltered, and steeled himself to continue before he could be interrupted. “Whatever it is they want from us, they’re going to get it. Easily.”

One narrowed his eyes. “You’re a Yank.” He said, accusingly, in the same voice one might declare a criminal. Tony was just glad he wasn’t recognised as a Stark. He would probably get stabbed around back. “Shouldn’t you be over there?”

He laughed at that. It was all he had been able to think about, everything he should have done, everything he should have been doing his whole life instead of fucking about, trying to earn his father’s approval, partying most nights until he collapsed, waiting to take over and make his mark when he should have been making his mark the moment he turned eighteen. “I have been over there. I’ve been over there more times than anyone else.” He smiled, sharply. “In fact, by now, I’m usually dead.”

They had no answer for that, and he hadn’t expected one. A few looked at him like he was mad, which he supposed he was, and eyed his glass as if to find out what kind of happy juice he had been sipping the whole time. The know it all looked away, finally defeated, and everyone looked morose.

But one patron had one more wound to give him, glowering at him like he was the worst kind of scum as he spat, “ _Coward.”_

Tony looked at him, but he couldn’t find the strength to argue. Any defence he had would be a lie.

Then, the overhead lights at the bar flickered, valiantly clinging to life, before dying. With the curtains drawn tightly closed, the building was plunged into sudden darkness. Tony jerked his head up as a murmur went through the patrons, the barmaid looking distinctly nervous, and then he heard something strange- a thudding, but more of a pulse, a heartbeat shared across the world. It sounded again, a few long moments later, just as ominous.

Then there was a wailing, a faint noise, not belonging to anything human. He listened intently, and identified it as a warning siren, coming from outside, muffled by the closed door and windows. Pushing his chair back, it made the others jump when the legs groaned across the floor, and he hopped off without a word and emerged into the street.

The roads were still silent, devoid of life, but the siren was louder here, warning everyone across London that something was coming, and they had to stay safe. Tony saw nothing of any interest- the sky was still a greyish-blue, the sun was still mostly hidden behind thick cloud, and there was nothing waiting outside to violently kill him. Honestly, it was the best situation he could have hoped for.

Curious and a little scared, he turned to the right and ran out to Waterloo Bridge, feet pounding against the pavement, and stared out across the River Thames, out towards Blackfriars Bridge. The roads were empty, the first time he had seen it so, and it didn’t sit right with him. He could still hear the pulsing, tangible in the air, and it only came more quickly, like a drumbeat, with the regularity of a slow heartbeat. He rest his hands against the stone, and gazed out to the water, frowning into the distance and the siren droned on.

The water began to ripple, like it was being pushed by the wind, but there was none. The world was almost completely still, as if holding its breath in anticipation. The Thames was the only thing coming alive, the ripples only growing and coming closer to Tony, as if something was swimming underneath.

He took a swift step back, suddenly understanding, and breathed “Fuck.”

The invasion of France had failed, Coulson and J squad and Rogers were all dead and Tony had let them die, and now they had come in from the North Sea to take England.

“Fuck!” He repeated, horror building in his gut, and then a drone leapt from the river, dripping water and snarling, and rode him down to the floor.

“On your feet, asshole!”

-

“Private, and drop and give me-”

Tony dropped down immediately, used to the whole routine. “Fifty, Sergeant.” He agreed, and confused, Coulson played his own part- issuing the push ups to the others. Their groans hardly seemed genuine, with the amount of times he had heard them.

Now, he supposed it was his moment to shine again, be the decent human being he should have been his whole life. He played along until the first car went by, and he waited with bated breath, watching the other follow out of the corner of his eyes.

He sucked in a breath, preparing himself, and rolled when the third came along, making it through and darting to his feet with much more grace than he had before his training, catching up with the car, and escaping undetected.

He ran to the hangar, jumping in front of cars without a car, ignoring the angry shouts that followed him down the path. He slowed his speed just before entering- he had run in before, and was stopped by Sam- and walked with purpose up the building, listening to the sound of the soldiers training.

Tony didn’t bother hitting the button as he walked, instead knowing perfectly how to time it. The klaxon blared again and Sam shouted after him, in bewilderment, but Tony could walk unopposed, knowing he wouldn’t be struck.

The Captain had heard the klaxon and eased himself down, frowning out at Tony, and when he stood at his feet, he leapt up, squaring up to him.

“Who are you?” Steve- _Rogers-_ demanded to know, as furious as all the other days Tony had met him. It was good to see him alive again, and Tony’s heart felt much lighter seeing the vivid life in his eyes. He tried not to think too hard about what that meant for him.

“My name’s Tony Stark,” He explained, his words perfectly planned, tattooed into the back of his eyelids. “I have your power. We’ve had this conversation many times before- you’ve trained me, I’ve had the vision, we know where the Omega is. We just need to get off the beach tomorrow.”

_And yesterday, I abandoned you._

Rogers’ eyes were round, stunned, and for a long moment, he couldn’t manage words. It was a lot to take in, a stranger coming up to you and giving you back the hope you had lost, saying that they knew you, they had fought with you, while you had never seen them before in your life. Tony couldn’t ever imagine what that was like.

“Well, then.” He managed, still looking a little winded. He was looking at Tony like he was the best thing he had ever seen. “I suppose we better get some training in before tomorrow, then.”

-

Sylvan backed up against the mound, repulsor gleaming in her palm, her brows furrowed. Her leg stung as she moved, in protest, to face Coulson. “I thought they weren’t supposed to know we were coming.”

Across the way, Romanoff lifted her faceplate, and she was snarling through the fear Sylvan knew she felt. Natasha was never one to admit it, but they had seen too much in such a short space of time, lost one of them already, and it could have worn down the strongest of soldiers.

Sylvan hadn’t known Parker for long, but she missed him, sorely.

“This is a slaughter house,” She said, words like broken glass. “This is a mess.”

“Get in line.” Coulson told them, firmly, and none could disobey. Sylvan’s headset lit up with warnings and notifications, the computerized voice telling her that she was running low on ammo, and she pushed that thought to one side. She would reload when she wasn’t surrounded by so much danger. “Stand your ground.”

She shot Thor a look, the unspoken communication saying _yes, I’ll stay with you, for as long as I can,_ and they stood together, preparing themselves as enemies began to light up her HUD. Her other teammates readied themselves in similar fashions as she counted them of them, almost a dozen, closing in faster than she could have dreamed.

She and Thor took their shots first, alongside Coulson, and took down the first two of them, Thor just missing his. The other took their own shots, behind them, and took down three, although one still lived, screeching in pain. Another tumbled down the hill, forcing Sylvan back before it rolled atop her. There were a few already dead, almost half, and the satisfaction was immense.

But one of the Chitauri shrieked, the one Thor had missed, and it darted forward to move into a leap, going directly for her Sergeant’s face before she could do a single thing to stop it-

Another soldier came out of nowhere, calling out a challenge, and intercepted it before it could sink its claws into Coulson. He killed it with a repulsor blast, and immediately turned to kill the second wounded creature. Coulson, who had recoiled, stared at him with awe, and Sylvan was only barely self-aware enough to nudge Thor back to life, urging him. “Come on!” She prompted, and jumped forward to help the soldier, firing a blast at another Chitauri. Thor joined her after a brief hesitation, bringing out his guns and taking down another. In a few moments, even more Chitauri were dead, the three of them working together to defend the others.

“What the hell are you-” Sylvan heard Natasha shout from behind her, and spun to see another stranger hauling her back with a tight grip on her forearm, as the sand swirled like a whirlpool at her feet. He shouted for Clint to get back with a voice that pulled at her, something familiar, but she couldn’t place it. Clint leapt back, and a monster jumped out from the sands, clawing at the place he once stood. The familiar soldier immediately brought down a baton on its head, like he was playing the world’s most serious game of Whack a Mole, and pummelled it into submission.

“Sylvan!” Thor shouted from behind her, and she pivoted again, to find one of the Chitauri disturbingly close. “Focus!”

There were still a few remaining, and she ran to Thor’s aid, using her guns to bring one down while Thor reached and tore out the throat of another, making it look as easy and tearing paper. Coulson and the stranger fought with them, both as vicious as the other, and it wasn’t long before they were all dead, and J squad stood panting over the corpses.

The stranger took a moment to himself, tension melting away even as he checked for any more surprises- and then walked past them without a second glance, heading straight for the other, who was bent over a little, struggling to catch his breath. Sylvan could see the way he moved, experienced and self-confident, and she saw a small blue, red and white image on his bicep. She safely assumed he was some kind of special team, while the other one had no such image- he was a simple soldier. The man rested a hand on the tired soldier’s back, carefully. “Are you okay?” He asked, and by Sylvan’s side, Coulson twitched like he’d been electrocuted.

“I’m fine.” The soldier said, getting up, and the other man’s hand slipped free. “A little winded, but we don’t need to restart.”

“Good.” He sounded satisfied. He watched silently as the man stretched for a moment, groaning as he used likely protesting muscles, and clapped him on the shoulder, lightly, as to not cause any damage. “Come on, we better go.” He pushed him up the slope, following closely, and before anyone could say a world they were off, running across the slick sands, avoiding trouble as they went as if they knew it was coming.

Sylvan turned to stare at Thor, wearing twin expressions of ‘what the fuck’ as Natasha and Clint checked over each other, expressions just as confused, and between all of them Coulson made a strangled noise.

“Did you see that man who saved me?” His voice was very faint. “That man with the little mark on his shoulder?”

“Yeah?”

“That was the hero of Verdun.” He said, uselessly staring at the spot they used to be. “And the other guy was Stark.”

Clint jerked up at that, squinting suspiciously at his Sergeant as if trying to figure out whether or not he was lying- and when it was clear he wasn’t, he said, “Holy shit.”

-

“Stay down and wait there,” Tony ordered, gesturing sharply to Rogers, and he saw the flash of gold hair disappear back down, blue eyes a little sheepish. “And actually stay down, this time. Trust me, future you will thank you.”

“Okay,” He called back, voice a little muffled. “I get it, I’m staying down.” He sounded a little put out by Tony’s harsh tone, and Tony half wished he remembered how many times he had gotten himself killed not following those exact orders. He had no right to sound irritated.

There didn’t seem to be any Chitauri around, but the last time he had assumed, he ended up with a broken neck, so he was playing it safe. It was easier- they had to rescue J squad twice, now. He moved slowly and quietly across the sand, keeping low to the ground, always moving where he could duck behind cover at any point.

They had moved on from the thick of the fighting, where they encountered less people and thankfully, less drones, but they had yet to leave the beach, and so they remained on their guard. Only when they were far, far away from this place would Tony allow them to stop and rest.

That is, if only Rogers did what he was told and not got himself killed.

Tony could only hope that he had stayed down and out as he prowled forward feet crunching against the pebbles that had replaced the sand, listening intently for any sound, eyes carefully watching for the slightest of movements. He wasn’t dying again, not he found a way to escape.

He headed forward with determination, getting further and further away from Rogers until he felt too uncomfortable to continue. He halted, even kicking at an abandoned helmet to see if it disturbed anything nasty, and waited. There was no response. From then on, the rocks began to turn into dirt with odd bits of grass and other foliage, and it made him hopeful, wondering that maybe beyond the slight hill ahead of him there would be freedom. Comforted by this, he edged that little bit further, until he could lie on his stomach and gaze over the top.

What he saw made him smile so wide it hurt the muscles of his face.

As far as the eye could see, there was nothing- only a stretch of land with a winding road. Tony was impossibly glad the beach wasn’t one of those resort towns, with the arcades and the funfairs- otherwise, a drone might have been hiding anywhere, and they never would have known. Over the hill the grass turned into concrete, before turning into the road that seemed to have no ending, and was surrounded by fenced off fields. France had been claimed by the Chitauri for quite some time, now, and he had no hope at all of coming across anything alive that wasn’t a drone.

He turned back, and indeed he could see Rogers peering over the top of his cover, blue eyes squinting. Knowing he had been caught, he tried to drop back down like he was never there, all innocence, but it was too late. Lucky for him, Tony was in a good mood.

He called out to him, and Rogers popped back up, throwing himself over the cover, and made his way towards him, a tad warily. Tony bounded back to him, energized. “We’re finally here.” He said, grinning madly. “We’ve almost made it.”

Rogers deflated a little, letting his weariness show a little more. He didn’t need to keep up the charade, now. “Thank God. How long have we been doing this for?” He sounded just as tired as he looked, but he was smiling with a kind of exhausted satisfaction.

“Way too long.” Tony said, matter of factly, but they were both grinning like idiots, that little bit closer to reaching their goal. “Come on. Let’s get the hell out of here before something comes along and fucks us up.”

Steve made a grunt of agreement, apparently not able to say much else before he was given a moment of peace and quiet to relax, and they both helped each other up the hill, arms slung around shoulders, taking each other’s weight. Eventually, their metal feet sounded along concrete, and Tony didn’t miss the crunch of sand and pebbles at all. When this was all said and done, it would be a long time before he ever willingly set foot on a beach again.

They found themselves on the road, undisturbed, and it was the best feeling he had experienced in a long time. Tony looked up, mouth open, ready to share some playful comment about how Steve would likely blunder into some ridiculous scenario and get himself killed and undo all his hard work, but stopped dead.

Steve was smiling at him widely, teeth almost off puttingly white and straight, and something clicked into place in Tony’s brain and heart, and he thought _oh, no._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings here for more temporary character death, and mentions of suicide.
> 
> I have a tumblr, at johnnytopsider.


	5. blood on the stone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony and Steve try to connect on the way to the Bavarian Alps.

Steve was so glad to finally be free of that hellhole called a beach that it physically pained him, and every step he took away from the bloody and ruined sands was glorious.

They had been walking briskly only for minutes, in a pleasant quiet. It was good to no longer hear the sounds of battle, only the soft breathing of his companion, and Steve took peace in the time while he could. He didn’t know when it was going to be ripped away from him, after all.

He was glad they had finally made it. He didn’t know how many loops it had been for Tony, but judging by the look on his face, he was close to giving up- or maybe he already had. Steve supposed that it didn’t matter. He was here with him now, they were on their way, and that was all that mattered.

They followed the road for a long time, until they wandered into the countryside, still beautiful but isolated, unnatural- the leaves in the trees still shook in the wind, but there were no birds to sing in them. There was no noise, unlike what Steve had grown used to over the years- there was just Tony. Tony, who walked relentlessly by his side. Tony, who had died who knew how many times to keep him safe.

Steve tried not to think of the memories that brought back- the blood, the bone, the screaming, the stillness. He wasn’t going to go through that again. He wasn’t.

The silence they walked in bordered on uncomfortable as they continued walking, and Steve wanted to talk, about something, anything, but he would not make a friend again only to lose them. He kept the quiet alive, nursing it, and Tony never made an attempt to smother it.

Eventually, the road branched off into a little trail, worn down by years of traffic off the beaten path. Down the trail was an open gate that lead off to an area inside a chain-link fence, and Steve could see about a dozen or more cars, connected to caravans or alongside little tents. It looked heaven sent, and the promise of quick travel made happiness leap in Steve’s chest.

He quickened his pace, reaching out to nudge at Tony’s side. “We need to take one of those. We’ll get further inland, quicker.” Wondering whether one would be in working order, he went to scout ahead- if they needed to restart for any reason, Tony could do it himself.

He was stopped by Tony reaching out, his hand curling around his wrist.

“Hold up, we need a plan.” Tony’s eyes were very dark, and serious. Steve immediately settled down, drawing back. “There’s an ambush down there- they’ve always killed us when we’re running around like headless chickens, snapping at each other and trying to find a car that’ll actually work.”

Steve knew he should apologise for his past self’s rudeness. But then he thought back to Verdun. He would not make a friend.

 _Steve- Stevie,_ a voice was calling for him, the same voice that kept him from a good night’s rest, and he waved it away, like it was a persistent fly. It was so much more than that. _Haunt me again when my duty is done._

Tony was giving him a funny look, as if he had said it aloud, and he prayed he hadn’t. Tony clicked his fingers in front of his face, bringing him back to the real world, and before he could be insulted Steve smiled, hesitantly, apologetically. “Sorry. What’s the plan, what’s the layout?”

“Right,” Tony said, to begin, facing the gates as if to align himself in his head, following the path in his mind. “The only two vehicles that work are a minivan or a green SUV. I’m thinking the minivan will be better for us, so I want you to go straight and get to it. You walk in and swing a left, and keep following the path up until you can slip between two caravans that don’t have roofs, and then go through to find it there.” Steve nodded, memorizing the simple route with ease. Tony nodded. “You’re going through the gate, but I’m going around to the right and slipping through a tear in the fence. I’m getting the SUV and distracting the drones that wait there. I need you to leave as soon as you get the minivan, yeah? Don’t wait for me.”

Steve pulled a face at him to show his disapproval, but Tony’s eyes were very serious, and he eventually nodded. “Yeah, alright.” He set off for the fence, no time to waste- but then Tony was grabbing him again, a bad habit he had slipped into and once Steve didn’t see the point in asking him to shake off. It didn’t help that human contact, human warmth was too comforting to ignore. “What?”

“Don’t forget to disconnect the caravan,” He warned, voice low, eyes staring into his. “It’ll just slow you down.”

Steve gave him his best look, the one that screamed _I’m not an idiot,_ and Tony arched his eyebrows in a manner that said _really,_ before letting him go. They split up immediately, without a word, and while Steve let the worry in the pit of his stomach fester, he didn’t voice it. It wasn’t like Tony was going to die, anyway.

They walked for a few seconds, but then broke into sprints, and then into full pelt running, the sounds of working machinery filling the quiet. The drones would hear them coming, easily. It was a matter of getting in and out fast enough to escape, hopefully to not be pursued.

Steve entered the gate, losing sight of Tony and bounded to the left, seeing the dirt track before him. He leapt out of the way of a haphazardly parked car, probably one abandoned during the first attacks on France, and stuck as closely to the path as he could, trying not to lose his way.

From behind him, there was a great crash, and Steve turned his head to see that Tony had cleared the fence with ease but slammed into a car, knocking it out of his way, shattering each of the windows. He wondered if it was purposeful, for the distraction. It would make sense, but if Tony was as clumsy as he made out before all the training they apparently did, it may have been accidental. Turning his head back, he allowed himself to smile, knowing it would not be seen, and moved out the way of pile of rubble from the nearby showering rooms. He imagined it was a fairly nice place to holiday, once upon a time, so close to the sea.

He saw the caravans eventually, parked to one side and almost completely demolished, both missing roofs and most of their sides. The interior inside was ruined, and it was trashed, useless personal objects that probably once belonged to a family strewn about inside. It tugged at his heart, and he wondered if they were still alive, but he slipped through and went on his way. It would not do to linger on something he couldn’t prevent.

 He saw the minivan and its caravan the exact same time he heard a familiar screech- the Chitauri, interrupted by Tony. He could only pray he wouldn’t be yanked away from this reality, cursed to forget again as he stormed forward as quickly as he could, overestimating his and the suit’s power combined in his eagerness, ripping the door from its hinges. _Oops._

The sound of a hail of bullets greeted his ears as he leant into the car, and the knot of worry grew tighter, heavier in his guts. He pushed it away, _not now,_ and fumbled around, looking for keys anywhere he could- on the seats, below the mats, under the chairs. After a moment, he checked the car shade, helplessly- and to his triumph, a key fell free. Hissing out a tiny, muted celebration, he swung himself into the seat. The already abused car groaned a little under the weight of his armour, and Steve would only pray that it could take an extra suit.

Hyperaware of the sounds of a battle, he jammed in the key and turned it, trying to bring the engine to life as quickly as possible. The engine whined, trying to start up, but gave up almost as soon as it began. He tried again, twisting it harder, and it valiantly tried once more only to die yet again. Steve stopped, exhaled through his nose before taking a deep breath, trying to calm himself. He wouldn’t be able to help anyone if he ended up snapping the key in his frustration. He counted for a few seconds, only too aware that any of those moments could have led to Tony’s death and the loops restart, and then tried again, resisting the urge to hit the dashboard.

Thankfully, it bloomed to life alongside the radio, third time lucky. Muttering a small thanks to anything that was listening, he kept it running. _Time to disconnect the caravan,_ he thought, but then he heard a cry- Tony. It sprung up alongside the sound of a repulsor, and Steve panicked, reversing without a second thought to Tony’s warning to leave him behind. He wondered if this had happened before, if there was a loop where he hadn’t gone to help him, and that’s how Tony had known about the Chitauri. If that was right, he wasn’t going to let it happen again.

Reversing was a bitch with the caravan in the way, but once he figured out what he was doing and where he was going, he drove as fast as he dared, waiting to swing a right, searching for any exit. He was impossibly grateful that there weren’t cars blocking the road here, otherwise he would have been stuck. He sped along the dirt track, the car flying over bumps and he kept an eye out for the familiar sight of the suit, or any kind of movement at all. It was probably only the second worst driving he had ever done in his life.

He drove manically, painfully aware of time running out and feeling like he was going around in circles before he finally found Tony, still but standing, alive and well. Steve slammed his feet on the breaks, and leant over to punch the door open- accidentally off its hinges, again. He had no time to feel sorry for it, and yelled, “Get in!”

Tony had jumped in surprise and stared at the poor door, with wide eyes- but when Steve yelled, he immediately ran for the car. He jumped in, and the car immediately dipped with their joined weight. Tony blanched. “Jesus,” He tried to say, but then yelped and held on for dear life as Steve planted one foot firmly on the gas pedal and they were speeding away suddenly, tearing out of the camp. He took all the sharp turns, trying to find his way out of the maze, as Tony cursed and shouted directions, once again, the second worst backseat driver Steve had ever had.

It seemingly took them forever to find their way out, but soon enough they were on the dirt track, and Steve took another quick turn on the country road, the caravan somehow still blundering along behind them. The radio was too loud in his ears, the smooth voice of the radio presenter speaking in surprisingly calm French despite the news she relayed. Steve translated it in his head as he drove, not quite as skilled at the language as he used to be, and she was talking about the day’s battle, and the hopes they had riding on it- and how they failed. Steve couldn’t remember the last time he had a conversation that wasn’t about the war.

 _The enemy has reached London,_ she said, _I repeat-_

Tony growled something incomprehensible over the noise of the engine, and hit at the radio a few times, viscously. He switched it off, and it plunged them into almost silence. Steve didn’t know if he knew French or just wanted to shut it up. Steve stared out at the road, willing away the relief he felt, the stressed pounding of his heart. By his side, Tony tried to get his breathing under control, with questionable success.

It took several minutes to allow Tony to compose himself enough to speak, and eventually, he turned to face Steve, frowning deeply.

“Are you okay?” He asked, sounding concerned, and Steve nodded.

“Do we need to restart?” Steve asked in his Captain voice, tersely. “Are you hurt?” He hadn’t realized he was holding his breath until Tony shook his head, urgently, and he couldn’t help but release it, all the tension flooding away with him.

 _That was close,_ Steve thought. _Too close._

Tony squirmed in his seat, turning to look in the rear-view mirror. Remembering it was gone with the door, he said ‘welp’ quietly, and turned around to peer through the back window, at the caravan. “You forgot to unhook it.” He said, accusingly, and Steve opened his mouth to say “It doesn’t matter. We got out, didn’t we?”, and then the caravan exploded.

The drone flew high into the air, screaming in rage. It clearly didn’t appreciate the high jacking, and the bumpy ride that followed. The caravan fell apart, left behind at Steve sped along, but the monster hit the ground, crashing into the back of the car, ruining the back. Tony yelled in his ear, panicked, calling for Steve to keep driving. However, the drone was not so easily shaken- it clung to Steve’s side of the car, claws curling around the door, hunting for them.

“Tony, kill it!” Steve bellows back, trying to focus on the road and not ploughing them into a tree. He swerved over the road, determined to shake it loose, but it had a tight grip, the metal of the car shrieking in protest as the claws dig in firmly. The creature comes to close for Steve’s liking, and he yelled out again, “Tony!” At his side, Tony kicked his way up, leaning out of the car and clinging onto the roof, even as Steve went at illegal speeds.

As Tony clambered up, firing up his repulsor as he went, the drone snarled, and lashed out- and pain flared up in Steve’s side, claws scratching at him, piercing the armour. He cried out, reaching down to wrench the hand loose, the metal of his suit against the metal of its very skin, and then Tony took aim and fired. The creature almost certainly wasn’t dead, but it recoiled, letting go, and its sound of fury was stolen by the wind as it fell to the floor, left in the minivan’s dust.

Steve hissed, sucking in a breath through his teeth, hand going to his side. He felt around, feel up the armour, and to his relief, the armour was barely damaged, and there was only a little blood. It was nothing to panic over, nothing to kill Tony for. Speaking over the devil himself, he was settling back down into his seat, and Steve removed his hand before Tony could see, wiping the small traces of blood onto the car seat.

Tony spread his legs widely in the seat and deftly reloaded his guns, out of habit. It was a good habit that Steve had managed to grind into him, after much protesting that _he knew, alright, god Rogers, you’re not my mom._

Tony thudded his head back against the seat and groaned, long and loud, and Steve hoped with him that the worst of it was out of the way, at least for now.

-

Halfway down the motorway, an hour later, Tony’s suit began to beep.

They both recognised the noise and swore in unison, their hearts dropping all the way down their chests, like a stone in water. Tony, who had lifted his faceplate after relaxing in the car closed it again, staring into his HUD, and groaned again, despairing. JARVIS was no doubt listing off all kinds of problems into his ears.

“Less than five percent battery,” Tony said shortly, flipping it back up. “We’ll have to dump this soon. Should have made the batteries last longer in these stupid fucking things.”

Steve sighed, rubbing at his temples, running a hand across his hair. He tried to count his blessings- they were both still together, they had made it so far and they had a car. They were both relatively healthy, bar his side that still ached with pain, agony sparking up whenever he shifted in his seat, but the further he could go the more Tony could memorize, making any future loops easier for the both of them. He bit his tongue and stayed silent, trying not to move his arm as best he could.

Tony glanced at him, and Steve was reminded that he hadn’t given Tony a reply. He ignored the look- he didn’t need to be spoken to. Steve wasn’t in a good enough mood for chit chat.

Tony silenced the beeping with a murmured command, asking to be reminded one percent away from shut down, and removed his helmet, resting it on his lap. Steve wanted to tell him to put it back on- what if there was an accident, there wasn’t any doors for god’s sake, but he looked happier with the breeze in his face, cooling him down, so Steve didn’t say a word.

They drove in silence for a couple of miles, fields to their right, fields to their left, with only the plain stretch of road ahead of them. Steve followed the signs as he passed. He had never been to France before, despite knowing the language, and they had to pass through until they reached Germany. If there was any kind of positive in this kind of situation, it was that he didn’t have to deal with border control.

Like that was a positive.

 “You’re lucky you know.” Tony spoke up, suddenly, his mouth twisted in a sly grin. Steve glanced at him momentarily through the mirror, before his eyes darted back to the road. It was empty, had been empty for as long as they had gotten on the motorway, but he remained vigilant. Anything could happen.

He just didn’t want to look at Tony, not in such a quiet moment.

“Hm?” He grunted, prompting him when Tony didn’t say anything else.

Tony turned to look at him, even leaned in as if sharing a secret. “I don’t let just anyone drive me around.”

 _What exactly does that mean?_ He wanted to know, but he could see the lure, the way Tony was trying to invite him in, and he wasn’t going to let that happen. “I’m honoured.” He said, a gentle mockery, and kept on driving. He couldn’t help the small smile, though, and Tony made a soft sound of victory.

Tony had made himself comfortable in his seat, and without the responsibility of looking at the road, he stared straight at Tony, smiling only growing with each passing second. It made Steve distinctly uncomfortable.

The quiet kept on, until Tony spoke up again. “You don’t talk much.” He pointed out, and Steve smiled tightly, only saying _mm._ “Not a fan of talking?”

“I’m a fan of talking.” He said, honestly. “Just not right now.”

Tony frowned. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” He said, reassuringly, even as the wound on his flank stung with protest.

“You ever gonna talk?”

Steve arched a brow, never looking away, and the silence reigned on.

Tony settled back into his seat, with a throaty laugh. He looked out at the expanse of land through the gaping hole where the door had been, smiling to himself, and for a moment, he didn’t press the matter. Then, he said, “You start talking eventually, you know.”

Steve looked at him, sharply. “Excuse me?”

Tony’s grin was pleased, self-satisfied, and Steve was all too aware that he had stepped all too willingly into his trap. He leant back in his seat, languidly like he had no cares in the world. “You act like you don’t wanna talk,” He drawled, sounding ridiculous to Steve’s ears. “But you’ll talk to me eventually.”

Steve snorted, dismissively, ignoring the flare of panic he felt. He wouldn’t have been broken that easily, he wouldn’t make the same mistake again- Tony was lying. “Really,” He said, voice mimicking Tony’s. “I don’t think I say a damn thing to you.”

“Really?” Tony asked, and Steve said, “Really.”

Tony looked at him, smiling so cryptically, and it made Steve’s skin crawl. He swallowed, and looked back at the road, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel, scratching at it with the gauntlets. Tony let him simmer in the anxious quiet, cruelly.

“Then how do I know Bucky’s name?” He asked so casually when Steve thought he was being stretched too far, going to snap, and then Steve’s heart stopped dead.

He wanted to swerve and pull over, to demand just how Tony knew that name and get the information out of him by force if he had to, if the man had researched him or _something_ before the beach, but he wasn’t going to play into Tony’s hands, dance to his tune. He needed his help, but he wasn’t going to be played with.

His grip tightened so suddenly on the wheel, he feared he might break it. He took a moment to gather his struggling thoughts, ordering them into something that made sense. He took in a sharp breath. “How do you know that name?”

Tony’s eyes were gleaming in some sick sort of victory, and Steve wanted to hit him, _can’t you see what you’re doing to me?_ “You told me it. Told me about him.”

God, how many loops had it been since they first made it out of the beach, out of the caravan park? Just how much had Steve willingly told him?

“That’s impossible,” He said, trying to make his tone as cold, steel like as possible, more like he was stating a fact, but it come out faint with disbelief. “I would never.”

“His name was James Buchanan Barnes.”

 _Fuck._ “What did I say about him? What exactly did I tell you?”

Joyful that he had finally gotten under Steve’s skin enough to talk, Tony grinned to himself. “Before I tell you all that,” He looked at him, seriously. “Is he why you won’t talk to me?”

He didn’t want to be told their story. Not again. He thought about it enough as it was, when he was alone, when he couldn’t sleep, when he was homesick and wondering uselessly just where home was now, exactly. Home wasn’t a place, it was the presence of a person who haunted him. “Don’t ever mention his name again.” Steve said, lowly, his voice a little hoarse.

Tony’s brows were knit together tightly, and Steve had had enough of the stubbornness and curiosity of Starks. “Who exactly was he to you,” Tony asked, at the same time Steve hardened his heart and said, “He’s dead.”

Tony reared back, looking rather like he had been punched in the face, and it gave Steve a kind of sick satisfaction to look at it. He focused on that, rather than the grief that was building up inside at the thought of _Steve, Stevie,_ and all the screaming that came with it. Tony had been scratching at an old wound that had barely healed, picking and clawing at it, and Steve wondered if it was ever going to become a scar, only a faint memory that ached. Steve had vowed to never talk about him, but he supposed that was another promise he was going to break.

 _I’ll keep you safe,_ he had said, once. _I’ll guide you._

“I watched him die,” He said, softly, so quietly Tony had to lean forward a little to hear. The soldier did so tentatively, as if afraid to get too close. “Hundreds of times, and I remember every detail.” All the blood, the white bone, the horrified screaming, the sluggish movement that turned to stillness when it was all too late, too late for Steve to do a single thing. “Every single one, so I don’t need to talk about it. I don’t need a reminder, like the constant reminder I get whenever I look at you.”

When he finished, there was a long moment of quiet, tense and awful. For the first time in a long time, Steve didn’t appreciate the absence of noise.

“I’m sorry,” His companion eventually said, softly, sounding like he hated himself for pushing Steve for answers. Steve hated him a little bit too, but it would pass.

Steve swallowed back the old grief that Bucky’s name brought back, and said, “It’s just war.”

He hated war.

Tony let him be for a while, but not long enough for Steve’s liking. He wanted Tony to learn his lesson for once and stay silent until they reached Germany. Steve was sure the quiet would drive him insane, but frankly, he didn’t care. As long as Bucky was never brought up again, there were a lot of things he didn’t care about. But Tony didn’t know where to stop.

“You told me other things,” He eventually murmured, as if fearful that Steve would shut him down. Steve didn’t look at him. “You told me your middle name.” Tony peeked at him, as if asking for approval and looking so eager for Steve to talk to him again, he relented, and prompted him with a raised brow. “You’re Stephen Gavin Rogers.”

Steve couldn’t help but bark out a laugh at that, despite everything, and Tony looked very pleased only for a second. The expression died a quick death when Steve said, smilingly softly, “That’s not my middle name.”

Tony looked deeply offended. “That’s what you told me. You also told me that you grew up in Brooklyn. Your mom was Sarah, and she was always keeping you out of trouble, but because you didn’t like bullies, you were the one actually causing half the trouble.”

Steve tried to suppress his smile at that. “No, that’s wrong too.” It was actually correct, unnervingly so, but he liked seeing Tony grumpy. It surprised him that he had said so much, and he still doubted that he had opened up so much to his charge, but how else would he have gained this knowledge? He hadn’t told anyone so many details about his life before, bar Bucky and Sam, and Sam would never have told him anything without Steve’s permission. But he continued to play with Tony, taking his fun while he could. “What if I made it all up just to shut you up?”

Tony looked like someone had just insulted him to his face, but he crossed his arms and settled down again in his seat, glaring at the dashboard like it had personally wronged him. “Yeah, that’s a possibility.” He admitted freely. “But you know, you do talk to me. Eventually.”

Steve sighed. “I don’t want to get to know you, Stark.”

“Please, everyone wants to know me,” Tony snorted, dismissively, disbelievingly. “You should have seen me back before all this- you probably did, all over the news.”

Well, there was one burning question. One thing he had recalled during their training, something that had been all over the internet years ago, but not had the courage to ask. He toyed with the idea a moment, wondering if it would offend him- but then Steve remembered exactly who he was sitting with, and wondered if the man had truly been offended by anything. So he asked. “…Did you really bring back five girls from your father’s best friend’s birthday party?”

He felt soothed by Tony’s bark of laughter.

“Sort of. Three girls,” Tony confirmed, that smirk coming back full force. “Two guys.”

“Oh my God, it’s true?” He was worse than Bucky. Steve barely thought that was possible. His laughed joined Tony’s, and for the moment, the car was filled with sound of genuine, honest laughter.“I don’t know how you got away with that with your reputation still fairly intact.”

“Being the heir to Stark Industries does a lot for you.” Tony admitted, freely, his smile wavering a little. “It’s a terrible privilege. But this isn’t about me, for once. It’s about you.”

“You don’t want to get to know me,” Steve said, with confidence. “And by the time all is said and done, it’ll be better for you if you don’t know anything about me. It’s easier, too.

“That’s bullshit.” Tony shot back. “I want to know you. I want to be friends.”

Steve sighed again, a long and exhausted sound, and Tony glowered at him, but didn’t press the matter. Before anyone could say anything else, revive the argument, the car began to clamour for his attention, beeping. When Steve looked, the screen told him that they were running out of gas, the symbol flashing urgently.

Steve and Tony both groaned in perfect unison.

-

They made it in the quiet onto a long country lane before they were forced to pull over, and move by foot. The last of the gas was gone, the sun was falling in the sky, and they were surrounded by fields still, as far as either of them could see. There weren’t any signs about, no markers that would tell them where they were, and Steve tried not to let his frustration show.

To their luck, there was a building within sight, standing just above a thick line of trees- what appeared to be a manor house, seemingly abandoned, but mostly in piece as far as they could tell. They planned to spend the night there, the light of day growing gradually dimmer with each passing moment. It would be unwise to travel past nightfall.

To their misfortune, because apparently the world couldn’t do them a favour without taking some of their advantages away, Steve’s suit began calling for his attention the same time Tony’s slowed, moving laboriously before shutting down completely. Tony growled to himself and began shedding the pieces, dumping them to the ground as Steve checked his HUD. _Five percent battery remaining,_ JARVIS informed him, casually, and he bit back the worry. He flipped up his faceplate in time to see Tony undoing the last of the armour, his leg guards, and shaking them free. He took the gun and the baton, clinging to them like they were his last line of defence- and then Steve remembered that they were.

“My armour’s low, too.” He told him, and Tony swore, louder than Steve would have liked. “I’ll keep it a little longer, but I’ll leave it in the house when we leave tomorrow.”

“I can’t wait to move on foot with no armour to defend us.” Tony said, sarcastically, before they continued wading through the tall grass, both with weary hearts but wearier bodies. Steve’s wound had reduced to a low ache, a permanent pain that wouldn’t leave. He hoped he could maybe find some painkillers left behind inside, but he wasn’t optimistic. They approached the place carefully, making sure to move quietly and slowly, and stuck to each other’s side as they approached. Steve kept his palm up, just in case, and moved through the front door first, cautiously. Tony stuck out behind him, eyeing everything suspiciously, as if fearful a drone would come around the corner at any moment.

They moved through the house quickly, checking through every room and finding them deserted, in a state that suggested the family who once lived here left in a hurry. The wallpaper was starting to peel a little, covered in bits of mould and spider webs and thick dust, but they could spend the night here easily. Steve was just grateful for a moment of rest and a roof over his head, no matter how leaky it was. He made a point not too look at the family photos on the wall- he didn’t want to know what once was, only what was now.

On the kitchen, they found a cast iron stove and a few minor supplies, some packets of food left on the table as if the old residents were planning to take them along, but didn’t have the time. Steve’s stomach rumbled at the sight- in all the stress and the madness of fighting, he hadn’t realised how hungry he was. Tony looked about the same, looking at the food as if it was the best thing he had seen in years. “We have to keep looking through the rest of the house, first.” Steve said, sternly, and Tony only nodded distantly.

They found a garage, attached to the kitchen, and it was filled with broken tools and desks and an aged car, crappy and probably broken down in Steve’s opinion. Tony moved ahead of him here, gravitating towards the desk, peering at the shelves above out of curiosity. Steve let him, without complaint. The evening light streamed through one broken window, illuminating the dust and letting in a cold draft. Tony shivered in his uniform, rubbing his arms. Finding nothing of use or note, Steve moved on, taking the back door out into the garden.

The garden was spacious, and ideal for a couple of kids and a dog despite the overgrown hedges and weeds- he found an abandoned playhouse around back and a dog’s chew toy hidden in the grass. But more importantly, there was what appeared to be a small helicopter covered in blue tarp, right down the end of the garden. Calling out for Tony, Steve surged forward, grinning. He reached up for it, ignoring the pull of his wound the best he could and pulled it free, revealing it to be in better condition than he hoped, even it was covered in grime. “Tony,” He called out again, beaming. “We could use this. We have to find the keys, they’re probably in the garage somewhere.”

Tony’s footfall crunched behind him, and he stopped just short of Steve, craning his head to look at it, judgmentally. “Or we could siphon it’s gas, try to get the car running. It wasn’t in the bad of a state, and you have me to fix it.”

“Why drive when we could fly?” He pointed out, eyebrows raised. “We can see where we’re going with this, and not be in such danger on the ground.”

He scoffed, looking at Steve like he was insane. “In that thing? Not if you paid me.”

“I know you’re used to all the fancy helicopters with champagne and pretty people around you, but we don’t exactly have that luxury.”

“I don’t need the champagne, and I’ve got a pretty person,” Tony winked at him, playfully, and Steve ducked his head away, determined not to let him see his flush of embarrassment. “But I’m not getting in that. Do you even know how to fly that thing?”

“Of course I do,” Steve said, and it wasn’t a lie. He saw a piece of rope slung over one of the blades, and moved towards it, planning to push it free. Lifting on his tiptoes to reach it, he said “I’m not suggesting we make it up as we- _fuck.”_ He had reached too far, pushed his body to its limit- without grasping the rope he lowered himself back down, hissing as he felt warmth around his wound, seeping into the clothes he wore under the suit. _Fuck._

Tony laughed from where he stood, completely unaware. “Make it up as we fuck? I don’t know, Rogers, I’m kinda okay with that.”

Steve didn’t bother replying as he gripped his side, breathing through his nose, trying to ignore the revived pain. It hurt, _fuck_ it hurt, and he never should have ignored it. Tony was still giggling to one side, but it began to trail off when Tony finally noticed him touching hide side. “Are you alright?” He asked worriedly, stepping up to him.

“I’m fine.” Steve said, trying to straight up and get back to business and failing miserably. “I’m fine.”

“Steve,” Tony said firmly, getting right up in his face and peering up at him. In the suit, Tony had been a little taller than Steve, only just, but now he wasn’t he had to look up to speak to him. Steve found it a little bit adorable. “Don’t lie to me. Let me see.”

He tried to argue against it, but then Tony’s hand was on his forearm, and Steve could only imagine the human warmth through the metal. Together, the longing for human contact and the pain made him defenceless, and he allowed Tony to strip away the top half of the armour, removing the gauntlets, shoulders and chest piece to reveal his wound.

The creature had slashed through the armour and found skin. His uniform shirt had a large tear in it, and the fraying edges were soaked in his blood, still wet. Tony murmured ‘ _Jesus, Steve’_ as he pulled the fabric apart, checking his injury. He was gentle as he examined it, careful not to cause any more pain, and Steve was grateful to him for that.

“You should have told me you got hurt,” Tony reprimanded him, taking a step away. “Come on, get inside. I’ll have a look and see if I can find a medical kit.”

Steve didn’t even protest, following him without a word. It was the first time he had let someone make a decision for him in a long time, and it felt surprisingly right. It had gotten darker as they searched through the house, and Steve hoped they would be able to find some source of light. He didn’t much fancy blundering around in the dark. Tony swatted at him as he passed, playfully, and even though Steve couldn’t feel the tiny hit to his lower back through the armour, he chuckled, and moved quickly back into the garage. He looked at the desk while he passed, wondering if the key had been left out on the side, but he found no such thing.

Tony guided him back into the living room and pressed him onto the sofa with firm orders to stay where he was and to take off his shirt, before putting his weapons on the low table and disappearing back into the kitchen. Steve could hear him bashing about with the cupboards, grumbling to himself faintly, and the noises couldn’t help but make him smile. He removed his shirt obediently and sat back, careful not to put any pressure on his wound and let himself relax, appreciating being off his feet and no longer surrounded by danger. He didn’t feel safe, exactly, but he felt a lot more confident being in doors. The sun had officially set outside, having finished easing the world into darkness, and Steve could barely see a thing through the windows.

Tony came back through to the living room about ten minutes later, looking apologetic and clutching a random assortment of objects in his hands. He offered Steve a bottle of water, and he accepted it gratefully. Drinking about half in a few gulps, while it did nothing for the pain or the pangs of hunger, he felt a little better. He passed it back to Tony, who drank most of what was left, then threw a few packets of what appeared to be cheese savouries on his lap. “That’s all that was edible on the table.” He said. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Steve ripped one of the packets open without hesitation and devoured them, aware that Tony was watching him with a faintly amused expression but not caring all that much. When he had eaten a whole packet, Tony settled down next to him on his right, turning towards him with some bandages, tissue, tape and a little container on his lap. Using the leftover water to wet some tissue, he wadded it up. “I couldn’t find any anaesthetic or antibiotics,” He began as he dabbed the tissue over the wound, clearing it up as best he could. He was careful not to hurt him, but it still stung. Steve never said a word of complaint. “Or anything to close up the wound. I found some painkillers, though.”

He exhaled through his nose in a sigh. “Maybe we should just restart,” Steve murmured softly, reaching out and curling his fingers around Tony’s weapon, pointing it in his general direction- and Tony practically jumped a mile in the air, lifting his hands up in surrender.

“Whoa, whoa!” He said, panicked, and Steve dropped the weapon down a couple of inches, pointing at the floor, frowning tiredly. “Don’t do that.” He waited, looking at him imploringly until Steve grunted and put the gun back. “Let’s just have some time to relax, yeah? Sometime before I have to go all the way back to the squad and meet you all over again, yeah?”

Steve remembered how irritating it got the first few times, having to run through the same conversations and situations all over again. He remembered the fear, too, the terror that he was going insane and he would never find a way to escape the loop. Looking into Tony’s face, he saw the exhaustion in the way he stood, the way his eyes were slightly heavy lidded, and he felt guilty, and sympathetic.

“I’ll give you fifteen minutes,” Steve allowed, grudgingly, and Tony smiled at him, grateful. “Then, I’m going to blow your brains out.” He then said, only half-jokingly, and Tony whistled lowly, pulling a face at him. Steve sighed softly and settled back against the sofa, appreciating the softness. He spread his legs out, stretching his aching muscles. He had some time to relax, even if he wouldn’t remember it- and didn’t that give him a headache, knowing that come the next ten minutes, he wouldn’t remember Tony’s face.

“Let me finish your wound,” Tony told him, softly, putting the tissue to one side. It was red and pink with Steve’s blood. “Let me cover it up, at least.”

“What’s the point?” Steve asked, frowning. “The wound will be gone when you wake up, and painkillers take a long time to kick in.”

“I just don’t want you to suffer.” Tony said, quietly, and his voice was very small, and honest. It sent a strange little pang of pain through his chest, in Steve’s heart, and he shifted uncomfortably where he sat. There was no way he was going to let this happen to him, no matter how much he wanted the touch. No way.

He changed the subject. “We have to find the keys to the helicopter.” He wanted to get up and look, make himself useful, but the seat was too soft, and his limbs felt too heavy to move. He shouldn’t have sat down- now he doubted he would stay awake for much along, let alone get up and move about.

Tony pressed his lips together, so tight they paled, draining of blood. “I found a hose earlier,” He said. “In the garage. We could just get the gas-”

Steve looked at him, expression unmoveable. “We’re going to fly, Tony. Are you scared of heights or something? I’ll hold your hand the entire way, if you want.”

It was Tony’s turn to flush, colour high on his cheeks, and the look made Steve grin, lazily. “I’m worried about crashing. Is that so wrong? Look, even if we do find the keys, get that thing flying, what are we going to do next? Even if we do restarts, when your suit craps out around this point we’ll have no armour, no repulsors, ammunition. We should just stay here for the night, stick to the ground in the car, and see what we can find out there before we restart. It’d be good to know where we stand.”

“Right,” Steve said, as dry as the treats he had eaten. “We’ll stay here, make a fire, curl up in front of it and open a bottle of wine.”

Despite everything, Tony cracked another smile at that, and Steve couldn’t help but laugh back for the moment. He waited until it died and the moment passed before continuing, seriously. “Seriously, Tony. If it’s all the same to you, I’m very tired, this wound is burning like hell, and when your minutes are up, I’d just like to start again.”

Tony’s jawline twitched, and he looked away, down at the floor. “I don’t want you to be in any pain,” He said, sounding as tired as Steve felt, and horrifically guilty, for some reason he couldn’t place. “I just… I don’t know what to do. Even if we do restart, we’re in a shitty situation here.”

“Tony,” Steve shuffled, and that was most of the energy he had left. He brushed the packets off of his lap, not particularly caring where they fell, and faced him head on. “It’s alright. You can do this, I know you can. You’ve gotten us this far already. Get us back here again, and we can figure out where we’re going from here.” He smiled at him, trying to seem reassuring. “We’ll even have a proper argument about whether we’re flying or driving when we find the keys.”

Tony’s answering smile was weak, and his eyes were dark with something that Steve couldn’t place- regret, perhaps, or maybe longing. He couldn’t tell, and neither of those emotions made that much sense considering the situation.

But then Tony let out a sigh, reaching out so his fingers brushed the edge of Steve’s jaw and _oh._

Steve watched him, his mouth falling open in surprise as Tony straight up stroked alongside his jaw, expression strange, like nothing Steve had ever seen him express before. He was looking at Steve like he was looking at the world anew, like he was the most precious thing he had seen, and it embarrassed him a little, being held in such high regard.

But he couldn’t deny that the touch was something he hadn’t dreamed about for a long time.

The only sound in the room was their breathing, and Steve’s heart was thudding in his ears, trapped in his throat. It was a moment that he knew would pass eventually, but felt like it would go on forever. Tony’s fingers were delicate, the way they had to be for him to create the suits, and they moved like they were trying to take in everything about Steve’s skin.

Then, Tony’s hand jerked away, and his eyes were wide, blown up against the whites. “I’m sorry,” He said suddenly as he recoiled, words like machine gun fire. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what I was doing. I’m so sorry.”

Steve reached out and caught his hand, pulling him back before Tony could slip away, and pressed it back to his cheek, needing the warmth. Tony sucked in a breath as Steve’s fingers curled around his, and he pressed his cheek into his palm. “It’s okay,” He said, quietly, as if trying not to scare him away again, even as his heart thundered in his chest. “It’s okay.”

Tony still looked hesitant, but didn’t pull away again, and brushed his thumb against Steve’s skin. Steve struggled to not let his eyes flutter closed and let himself enjoy the soothing motion, offering Tony a smile that was reluctantly, carefully returned. They look at each other for several long moments, both heartbeats racing. Tony took in another unsteady breath, thumb repeatedly stroking across his cheekbone.

Then, Tony was leaning forward, gradually, as if giving time Steve to pull away, but Steve leant forward, closing the distance, and they were kissing, lips gentle and touch feather light.

The world was shock still around them, not a movement, not a sound, and the only thing that mattered to Steve right then was Tony. Tony was warmth in the cold, light in the darkness, he was here, and he was real. Steve reached out, touching his hips so lightly, and he never wanted to let him go. In turn, Tony sighed so softly against his mouth, and he brought up the other hand to cup his face, drawing him closer, growing more urgent. The kiss turned from careful and light to deep and almost frantic in no time at all, and Steve was gasping against him, breaths heavy, almost laboured.

“Steve,” Tony said against his mouth, pulling away to let him take a breath. “Oh my god.”

Steve had time to laugh breathlessly, and then Tony was on him again, bringing his face to his own, desperately. His lips were tingling, his face was warm like he had gone bright red, and he couldn’t find it in himself to fucking care. Even his wound went temporarily forgotten, as Tony’s hand dropped and stroked a line down his throat, making Steve shiver. He was made suddenly painfully aware of the fact he wasn’t wearing a shirt as Tony kissed him deeper, firmer, and one had smoothed down his chest, resting just above his heart. He wondered if Tony was checking if he was real too, checking the beating of the only thing keeping Steve alive.

Tony shifted on the sofa, drawing closer, moving to straddle Steve’s legs. In response, Steve curled his hand around his hips, tugging him close, enjoying his body heat in the cold of the room. He was starting to go crazy with the warmth of breath against his lips, calloused hands sliding against his skin. The hands went further down, across his stomach, making his muscles tense and quiver, body seizing at the sensation. Tony cupped his hips, even daring to squeeze his ass, and they laughed into each other’s mouths, breathily.

Then, Tony’s hand was at Steve’s belt, toying with the buckle almost apprehensively, as if wondering whether or not to ask. Steve moaned softly at the thought, spreading his legs further, wordlessly allowing access.

Tony moved until he was on his knees in front of Steve, leaning forward to press kisses into the sensitive skin of his stomach, fingers still at his belt. “Please, let me.” Tony was saying urgently, against his abdomen, not once pulling away. “Let me do this for you.”

_Let me have this, this is all I want, let me have it, please-_

Steve nodded, wordlessly- he wasn’t quite capable of words in this moment. Tony made a sound of relief, and made short work of Steve’s belt and zip, pulling his pants down to his ankles. Steve trembled when exposed to the cold air, but he immediately forgot about it when Tony pressed a kiss to the bulge in his underwear. He shivered for entirely different reasons, then. He stroked his hands up and down Steve’s thighs for a long time, appreciating their strength and softness.

Steve was relieved when Tony had enough of playing with him and hooked his fingers into his underwear and pulled it down to join his pants, freeing his cock. He watched through half lidded eyes as Tony licked his lips, reaching down to adjust his own clothing at the same time he licked a stripe up his other palm. That hand curled around him, firmly, and Steve sighed at the contact. He wasn’t thinking- there were so many reasons why they shouldn’t, so many, but he wasn’t thinking about a single one.

“Is this okay?” Tony’s voice was hushed and rough in the silence, and Steve could only nod. Tony jacked him a couple of times, carefully and slowly as if it was an experiment to see what he liked, until Steve was thrusting up into his hold, breathing a little harder. He ran his thumb up the length, rubbing it around the tip, and Steve was breathing out little pleas, for more, for mercy. “It’s alright. I’ve got you, I’ve got you.”

“Please.” Steve muttered, back bowed over him, watching his cock in Tony’s hand with heavy lidded eyes. Tony never stopped, keeping an even pace, utterly relentless. Steve had never been so thankful for anything else in his life.

With his brow furrowed in concentration, Tony cupped his balls, toying with them gently for just a few moments before slipping his hand down, pressing the pad of his thumb lightly against Steve’s hole. The very suggestion had Steve purring, leaning his head back and spreading his legs widely, pliable under Tony’s hands. “Please,” was all he had to say again, before Tony was growling, and reaching up to press his fingers against Steve’s lips.

“Suck.” He said, impatiently, and Steve immediately took them in, lavishing them with attention, sucking firmly and licking them, getting them as wet as possible. Anticipation was curling in his gut, like snakes. Moaning softly around them, he worked for a few long moments, producing as much saliva as he could- and then Tony squeezed his cock, just slightly, and pulled his fingers free. “Good boy.” He said, and something in Steve quivered.

Tony brought his fingers back to Steve’s ass without further ado, and rubbed at the skin carefully, before pressing in just slightly with one finger. He had to be careful, with such limited slick, and Steve breathed in deeply, trying to relax to make it easier.

Tony decided to help out in his own way, and leant forward, licking a path up Steve’s cock. Steve cried out, surprised, but that didn’t stop him- Tony kept lapping at it, pushing his finger in further, and by the time he was easily drawing it in and out, rubbing at Steve’s walls he had his mouth fastened around the tip of his cock, tongue licking up the bitter precome. Steve’s hand flew down to thread itself in Tony’s hair, the only anchor he had left to reality. He was whining curses, feeling the arousal twist and knot in his stomach.

Tony hummed out a laugh, and only took him deeper, bobbing his head up and down as he curled his finger inside him. He sucked as he added another, sliding it in just as slowly and making sure Steve’s noises were still all ones of approval before he began to thrust them together, not aiming to stretch or prepare- just pleasure. He moved his fingers, searching, looking for the spot inside him, and when he grazed it, just barely, Steve convulsed and grit out his name, thighs shaking. Tony only laughed, keeping his fingers there to rub at the spot torturously, and the pleasure came through his entire body in hot waves. He later alternated between thrusting and rubbing, like he was trying to surprise him with it, and Tony did, every time.

“Tony,” He whined, lowly. He was wrecked, he was ruined, this was the worst and the best thing that had ever happened to him. The sound of slick sucking together with the feeling of Tony’s fingers inside him was driving him insane, slowly, and Tony’s hair underneath his hand was soft. He could feel the orgasm building in his gut, the muscles in his stomach contracting tightly, and he was so close. He tried to warn Tony, his words slurring together a little, but he seemed to get the idea as he sucked harder, hooking his fingers and pressing them upwards, searching for Steve’s prostate again with one hand and rubbing at the sensitive skin behind Steve’s balls with another, hurrying him to his climax.

Steve moaned desperately, crying out, trying to stop his hips from bucking too fiercely- and then he came, abruptly, catching him by surprise. His back bowed against the sofa and his breathing was ragged as he finished, keening, hips twitching. Tony swallowed his come as best he could, still fondling Steve’s balls, working him through despite the soreness in his jaw.

He came down eventually, panting, eyes hazy.

His muscles relaxed as Tony slipped his fingers out, and he felt bone tired again, like he wanted to curl up and sleep for a few hours. He let Tony paw him about without complaint, dragging his clothes back up and tucking him back in, and he swore he felt a kiss on the skin just below his bellybutton. Tony rested his forehead there for a moment, dropping him arms where Steve couldn’t see and breathing out, and then Steve realised.

He pushed him back, sitting up, and pulled him up, guiding him too his feet. Without Steve realising, Tony had unzipped his own pants and shoved a hand down there, quickly stroking himself.

“Let me,” Steve murmured softly, and he batted Tony’s hand out of the way, wrapping his own around it and taking up Tony’s quick pace. He pulled Tony forward as he shuffled back, almost onto his lap. Tony groaned, clearly struggling to keep his hips still, and leaned his head onto his shoulder, pressing little kisses and bites onto Steve’s throat. Steve tried to bring him to completion as quickly as he could, twisting his hand and tightening his grip. The noises he made were delicious and agonized, and he smiled with satisfaction, one hand going to the back of Tony’s head and drawing him into a kiss.

Tony eventually came with a grunt, hips bucking into Steve’s hand, and the warmth splattered on his belly. He rode out his orgasm with a long sigh, Steve’s hand still urging him through, and when it subsided, Steve tucked him away like Tony had done for him. Tony was limp and lazy against him for a moment of peace, like a housecat, but he sat up before the come could dry.

“Here, let me,” He said, hurriedly, and grabbed one of the wads of tissue to wipe the mess away, throwing it carelessly to the floor when he was done. Steve didn’t bother complaining. It didn’t matter, and he had nothing to complain about when Tony joined him again, sitting closely beside him. He found Tony hadn’t bothered to wipe away the come he couldn’t swallow in his beard, and chuckling softly, he leant in close and licked it away without a second thought. He kissed him sweetly once more, and whined piteously when Tony pulled away.

Tony smiled down at him, bright eyed and happy looking, and he smoothed his hair back carefully before pressing a dry kiss to the middle of his sweaty forehead. “Sleep for a bit,” He said, softly. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

Body limp and mind sluggish in the aftermath, Steve could only smile. “Okay.” He said, and within thirty seconds of laying down, he was out like a light.

_-_

He woke up an unidentifiable amount of time later, and the room was glowing.

That confused him, for a long moment, until his eyes began to focus, and he realised that there were small candles dotted among surfaces, across the tables and the floor, casting faint light across the room. The curtains had been shut tightly, to prevent anyone or anything from seeing in, and it was raining- he could hear it pattering against the window, hear it drumming against the roof. The weather had turned nasty overnight, it seemed, and Steve was glad for the protection. The room was warmer than he remembered, though. A blanket had been tucked around his shoulders, but the very room itself was warm, as if the heating had been turned on. Steve frowned, sitting up as he slowly came back to reality. _That’s impossible._

Tony was no longer in the room, but Steve wasn’t concerned. He could hear him in the kitchen, clattering about and even humming a small tune to himself, one he didn’t recognise. The pleasant noise made him smile, even as the dull pain of his side kept throbbing.

He deliberately didn’t think about what would happen when the day was restarted.

He swung his legs off the sofa, clearing his throat and rubbing his eyes, and then he heard footsteps- Tony, returning. “Oh, you’re up.” He said, and he was smiling widely, looking down at Steve like he was precious to him. “You’re gonna love me, precious.”

A little caught off guard, Steve blinked, and said challengingly, “Am I? How do you know?” He smiled a little, more of a social cue to let Tony know he wasn’t mad.

Tony let it pass, and waggled his eyebrows. “I got the stove up, and I found sugar and coffee.”

Steve was up like a shot, standing and wrapping the blanket around his shoulders like a cape. He felt ridiculous, but now wasn’t the time for that, and it was soothing on his bare skin. “You found coffee?”

“I thought that would get you up,” He said, grinning, and gestured towards the kitchen. “Your kingdom awaits.” He looked pointedly at the cape, and when Steve passed him, he deliberately stepped on his foot. Steve wished he still had the suit- he could have broken the bones. “Oh, that’s cruel, Rogers. Maybe you won’t get your coffee after all.”

“Maybe I’ll kill you for it.” Steve replied, lightly, and claimed a seat that Tony had placed not too far from the stove. It was blessedly warm by its side, and Steve could see the coffee brewing. “Jesus, I can’t believe you found it. You must be a magician.”

Tony was smirking, smugly, but he served up the coffee quickly, not wanting to risk his wrath. Steve watched him work, smiling faintly, body still tired but content. It didn’t appear that they were going to talk about what happened, but right now, they didn’t need too. Tony poured the coffee into two clean looking mugs on the kitchen counter, grinning at the steam and fiddling with them a little, adding the sugar sachets, before carrying them over to the stove, claiming the seat next to Steve.

Tony pressed one of the mugs into his hand. It read KISS ME, I’M IRISH in bold letters.

“How did you-“

“You mentioned it before.”

“Oh.” Was all he could say in return, and he drew the blanket a little tighter around his shoulders, almost blissful in his little cocoon of warmth. While Tony immediately sipped at his own mug, needing his fix, Steve just held the mug for a long moment, enjoying the feeling of doing something so domestic, so normal. He felt peaceful. But apparently, he relaxed for too long, and Tony made a pointed noise.

“I can make coffee, you know,” He said, fondly exasperated. “I’ve done it for myself before. And its three sugars, just the way you said you like it, for my favourite soldier.”

For the moment, Steve chuckled softly, taking a sip. With both hands curled around the mug, he sapped its heat, and alone with Tony he didn’t feel quite so lonely any more. Shuffling back in bed, he was half a mind to ask Tony join him, maybe lose some of those layers. They could stay like this, look for the keys in the morning light, who cared, they could take the rest of the night for themselves-

Then, he suddenly felt cold, the ice coming back to swallow him whole. The mug could do nothing to comfort him now. His stomach squeezed and clenched in sudden sickness, like he had fallen from a great height, and he felt vulnerable in the face of the implication, which set deep into his bones and rushed in his veins.

“I never told you how I liked my coffee.” He said, his voice almost a whisper.

Tony looked at him from across the room after a few heartbeats of silence, and his suddenly guilty expression told Steve everything.

They had been here before.

Steve swallowed back the bile, refusing to choke. His throat felt tight, constricting painfully, and he wouldn’t look Tony in the eye. The room no longer felt as warm and welcoming as it once did. “So, how many times have we…” He couldn’t finish- he didn’t want to say it.

Tony’s voice was very soft in the deathly silence. “Just this once, I promise.”

Steve barked out a laugh. “You promise. Right, because you’re always so honest with me.” He shoved the cup to one side, and even though piping hot coffee sloshed over his fingers, he didn’t flinch. He got up, striding out back to the living room, grabbing for his shirt. It still had the tear, he would need a replacement, but he would find one somewhere else. “Where are the keys?” He demanded to know.

“Steve, please-”

Steve couldn’t control himself, and he was shouting, voice filling the room. He couldn’t find it in himself to feel guilty when Tony recoiled. “Where are the keys?! You’ve obviously been here before, you must know where they are-”

Tony stood up and lifted his hands, placating, like he was trying to calm a wounded animal. Steve supposed that was exactly what he was. “Steve-“

“Don’t!” Steve snapped, and horror of all horrors, his eyes were beginning to blur with tears. “Don’t talk to me like I’m being an idiot! I can’t believe you did this-”

“I’m sorry!” Tony said back, lifting his voice but not shouting. “I’m sorry, I just-”

“I don’t want to hear your excuses,” Steve snapped. He finally tugged the shirt over his head, ignoring the pain when it pulled at his injury, and hoped it didn’t show on his face. He tried to keep the tears at bay- he wasn’t showing weakness to Stark, not now. He grabbed his jacket, but didn’t put it on. “You have the keys, don’t you?”

“Yeah, I do.” Tony said, defensively. “And I don’t care what you say, you’re not getting them.”

“And what if I don’t ask?” Steve rounded on him, fully aware of how much height and muscle he had on him, but Tony didn’t look the slightest bit afraid. He looked stung, upset despite his vicious words, and it only made Steve angrier. He had no right.

Tony tilted his head up, showing him his chin stubbornly. “Try me.”

Steve did.

Surging forward, Steve grabbed the front of Tony’s shirt and forced him backwards until the back of his knees met the sofa. Tony made a noise of protest, but the wind was knocked out of him as soon as he fell back, and Steve landed atop him. He fisted in hand in his shirt and applied pressure, forcing Tony to stay down.

Steve could keep him pinned all too easy, even as he struggled, trying to pry his hand loose and kicking up at him, squirming uselessly. “Get off of me!” Tony was growling as Steve checked each pocket, pawing around for the keys. _“Get off me!”_

Steve found them in the back pocket of Tony’s jeans, and he didn’t have time to be apologetic. He pushed Tony down as he tried to get up again and stood, immediately making a beeline for the door, the keys clenched tightly in his hand, almost cutting into his palms. He was halfway through the kitchen, planning to get the helicopter started immediately before he was aware of Tony screaming after him, “If you start that engine, you die!”

He stopped, and watched Tony run after him, feet thumping against the floor. When he was close enough, he tried to grab Steve’s hand and force his palm open for the keys, but his hands were shaking uselessly, and Steve held it out of his reach. Tony cursed him, furiously.

“What do you mean?” He demanded, and Tony tried to jump up and wrestle with him for the keys again, but Steve placed his palm in his chest and forced him backwards, keeping him at arm’s length. “What does that mean?”

“What do you think it means?! It means you fucking die, you asshole.” Tony’s voice broke on the last legs of the sentence, and to Steve’s vague horror, his eyes were wet with unfallen tears. “Give me the fucking keys!”

“No.” Steve said firmly, pushing him back again, and taking a step away to be sure. His mind was running out of control, his side was killing him, and he couldn’t believe he had ever been so stupid as to fall asleep, to trust Tony and let this disaster happen.

“I don’t think you understand,” Tony spat at him, swallowing and furiously rubbing at his eyes, as if to prevent the first tear from falling. “This is it. You don’t get any more than this. This is the end of the line for you, no matter what I try, and I’m sick of it. I’m not seeing you die here anymore, I’m not.”

His voice was wavering, dangerously, and he looked too vulnerable in this moment, too soft, too sensitive. Steve knew he was anything but, but the look of him made his heart hurt. Steve didn’t love him, not yet he thought, but there was something there, something that could become something more if neither of them fucked it up completely.

And if Tony was telling the truth, which he had no reason not too, Steve wouldn’t live to let that something bloom. The very idea was devastating.

But his little life compared to the lives they would save finishing their mission?

There was no choice at all, really.

Steve clenched his jaw, and hardened his heart to steel. “This isn’t a choice you make. If I don’t make it, this is my price to pay.” He told him, firmly, and began his final walk to the helicopter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)
> 
> Not many real explicit warnings for this chapter- just some minor violence and gore and some sexual content.
> 
> I have a tumblr, at johnnytopsider.


	6. smoke and mirrors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony suffers the fallout, and makes a decision.

This was wrong, it was all _so wrong_ , and Tony had fucked it up big time.

They had been in that house so many times before, so many, and it always ended with him standing alone and trembling, glass imbedded in his arms and blood that wasn’t all his smeared all over his hands- and it was going to happen again, if he didn’t prevent it.

“ _No!”_ Tony dashed after him, as fast as he could, chasing after Steve through the kitchen and the garage. He almost reached him, and he was going to bring him back, drag him if he had to, he would do anything to keep him from the garden. But, useless as ever, he caught his foot and tripped over a tool box, falling with a strangled cry.

He slammed to the concrete floor, hard, dazed for just a moment and every part of him hurt- but Steve had that time to move ahead and he pushed the door open, letting the early morning light stream in, and Steve stepped out into the light rain without a second look. Shaking away the haze, he scrambled up and stumbled after him, ignoring the way his knees protested. He burst out into the garden, and called after Steve, but made sure to keep himself from screaming too loudly. He didn’t want to accidentally wake the creature who killed him, after all.

“Steve, stop!” He shouted after him, hurrying as Steve reached up and began removing the ropes from the blades that he didn’t have a chance too before. The rain wasn’t hard, but it had him dripping in less than a minute. “Steve-”

“Go back inside, get your weapon and get in the helicopter, Tony. I’m not in the mood for your games.” Steve said flatly, his voice cold and distant. It was the Captain voice again, and it stung. Tony thought they would maybe move beyond that, but now, it was back to the ice.

Tony clamped down on the frustration, dithering around the helicopter, wanting to physically stop Steve but knowing it would be useless. He looked toward the fields out to their right, nervously. That was always where it came from. He tried to tell Steve that. “Look, out those fields,” He began, pointing, but Steve was refusing to play along, even look at him. He wasn’t sure he deserved that. “There’s a drone buried out there, and every time you start than engine, it attacks.”

Steve wasn’t listening, gathering up all the roof and tossing it aside, and not once did he even look Tony’s way. Tony could see his wound was bleeding again, could see the shirt getting wet again. _No, no, no._ “It wakes up even more of them, a little further away. And every time, you die. There’s no version of this where you walk away.”

Steve finally turned and shot him the darkest glare he had ever been on the receiving end of, before turning and stepping up into the helicopter, wiping the grime away from the screen with his jacket so he could see. “Get in the fucking helicopter, Tony.”

“No!” He refused, point blank, shaking his head. _There’s no way in hell I’m ending up like this again, not after all this._ There was that nasty voice whispering to him, snickering, telling him that no matter what they would have to start again anyway, and Steve would _forget-_

And there was an even nastier voice, telling him that it didn’t matter- he could go back and do it again, but with the advantage of spinning things his way, and Steve would never even know. He hated that voice the most. He wasn’t going to take advantage of Steve again.

“Look, we’ve tried everything to keep you alive.” Tony said, urgently, hyperaware of the keys in Steve’s hand that were moments away from bringing doom down upon them. “The only thing we haven’t tried is you going back to the house, or any of the other houses nearby and you laying low while I go ahead. There’s probably food, medicine, clothes, I’ll come back and get you-”

Steve cut him off with a sharp gesture, and the ominous sound of him putting the keys into the ignition. Tony wondered how long the noise would haunt him, along with the sound of Steve choking on his last breath, splattering him with hot blood. “You wouldn’t understand, not being a proper soldier, but I signed up for this. This is what soldiers do. I’m not gonna stay here and wait out the end of the war, not like you would have before you got the power.”

“I don’t think you understand!” Tony interrupted, stopping Steve from twisting the keys. “You die here, and I can’t do a damn thing about it! And I have no idea what’s going to happen at the end, but if I kill the Omega, that’s it. The day can’t be restarted, and the power will be lost.” He gestured wildly with his arms, as if physically trying to get through to him. “You’ll be dead. Forever. Permanently, Steve, you don’t seem to understand that.”

Steve’s eyes were hard, unfriendly. “I understand that perfectly.” He leaned forward, and repeated quietly, “This is my price to pay.”

“Fuck you.” Tony spat, acidly, his expression crumbling, falling apart into nothing.

“Why does this matter to you?” Steve demanded to know, still leaning in. His expression was one of pure anger, no resignation, no fear- a true soldier, until the end, proud to serve and to die doing so. It made Tony want to punch him, and for a while, he seriously considered it.

His frustration bubbled over, and he said, much louder than he intended, “Are you fucking kidding me? Are you serious? After everything, you’re asking me that?” He scoffed, and dropped his voice, making a mockery of Steve’s own. “ _’Why does this matter to you?’_ Why do you think?” He dropped his arms, thudding against his own thighs, and shook his head, battling against the thick anger that swelled up from the bottom of his heart. “Look, you were right, okay? I shouldn’t have gotten to know you. But I did. And I regret it, but I don’t. I want to know you, and I don’t want to lose you here.”

The lines of Steve’s face were still hard, like they were carved out of stone, but his eyes lost their edge, softening just enough for Tony to see. It made him think, for a moment, that he had a chance. “I know this is hard, I know you’re frightened, but I can’t stay here. Tony, I’ve been you, I know-“

“Stop saying that!” Tony burst out, fury overtaking him once more. He had had enough of Steve’s guidance, of the holier than thou attitude. “You don’t know, you don’t know anything!”

“Tony-”

“Shut up,” Tony hissed, and he closed the physical distance between them, reaching out and crowding up against him, in his personal space, pushing him against the back seat. Steve almost made a move for the keys, but he wasn’t quite quick enough, and Tony grabbed him arms, forcing them down to his lap. Instead of speaking, Tony kissed him again, fiercely, like it would be the last chance he got.

Steve was not a weak man. He had the power to make him stop if he wanted, had the power to shove him away, but he didn’t. Tony’s heart felt that little bit lighter for that. Steve didn’t pull him closer but didn’t furiously react, and Tony drank him in, sharing his taste of the coffee Steve never drank. Steve himself didn’t taste of anything- just warmth.

Steve allowed himself to be kissed for a long moment, his lips soft and pliable, almost kissing back, but eventually, they had to break for air. Tony could have happily died like that, but Steve wouldn’t let him. Instead, he rest his forehead against Steve’s cheek, catching his breath, and his heart felt like it had been ripped out, stomped on, run over a few times and then dropped back in his ruined rib cage. Steve let him stay close, but remained silent, panting into his ear. In that moment, Tony could convince himself that Steve had forgiven him, maybe even loved him.

Tony needed to say an extra piece, but his throat was suddenly tight, and he had to swallow to ease his dry throat. He wondered if he was going to cry. _Stark men are made of iron,_ he reminded himself, the action futile when his eyes began to sting nonetheless. “I want you to remember this,” He said, and he was choking on his words, voice hoarse with grief. “Remember me, despite everything I’ve done. Steve, I’m sorry.”

Steve said nothing, didn’t even move, like Tony had said nothing. They stayed like that, almost an embrace for several intense moments, time trickling by slowly like water from a leaf, and Tony could kid himself that things might go his way, for once.

Then, Steve shoved Tony back as hard as he could, sending him staggering feet away before he collapsed to the floor, and quickly turned the key, starting the helicopters engine.

The rotors began to spin without delay, and pure survival instinct made Tony panic and run, scrambling up from the muck. He had no time, only seconds to get out of the way, and even as he fled he could hear the shriek that he would remember forever, the creature crawling out of its temporary grave. It crawled its way out of the mud and thundered towards the source of the noise that woke it, moving mostly on instinct.

Steve was already lifting off, several feet in the air, and Tony was dashing for the door, trying to remember where he had left his gun. _The garage, on the desk near where I found the keys,_ he thought, with great relief, thanking his past self. He didn’t have much to thank him for, but he had the foresight to move his weapon out of Steve’s reaches while he was slumbering, in case he decided for a surprise restart so Tony couldn’t argue. He burst through the door and made a beeline for the desk, making sure he didn’t trip over the tool box again.

He stuck to the left, knowing exactly what to expect, and when he was only inches away from closing his hand around his weapon, the helicopter crashed through the right side of the roof, ripping through the garage with the drone clinging to it, screaming in challenge and fury. Barely able to stay on his feet, he snatched his gun and backed up, knowing what would happen if he got too close from very painful experience.

Aiming his weapon at the Chitauri, he tried to kill it before it could do any more challenge to the helicopter and by extension, Steve. The helicopter was swerving, touching on the floor and the smashing into the wall, but the drone managed to cling to it still, it’s screaming barely audible over the rubble falling from the building and the helicopters engines. The drone barely missed being crushed against the wall like an insect, and Tony found it difficult to shoot without hitting the helicopter.

He had to stop- he knew the tail of the helicopter would be coming around, and he turned and fell into a sideways roll to avoid it. Recovering, running and the ducking behind the car, he aimed again- and the helicopters blades got caught on something Tony didn’t see, perhaps the Chitauri itself, and it rolled to one side while still trying to fly, and smashed against the wall upside down. Trying to fly the wrong way around, it smashed into the floor, blades scraping across the floor and jolting, screeching, smeared across the floor. It was impossibly loud, so loud Tony feared he would go deaf, and then the tail of the helicopter flipped around as the helicopter spun wildly, and caught the bonnet of the car.

He didn’t get out of the way in time.

The car was knocked, forced along, and on its path it caught Tony. He cried out as the car slammed into his lower half, dropping the gun, and it shoved him through the brick wall of the garage behind him, sending him flying. Thankfully, the wall was already weak, and it fell apart with ease and Tony received little injury bar surprise- until he landed, in the remnants of a shattered window. He tumbled, rolling, but landed there, half propped up on his arms, the glass imbedding into his flesh. He groaned in pain and sat up, slowly, glass scratching at his knees, stabbing into his skin. He could still hear the helicopter, still spinning, but losing its speed very quickly. He could no longer hear the drone, and by now, he assumed it was dead. It usually was.

There was his baton lying inches away, like it always was, and Tony reached forward and grasped it, planting it against the floor and using it to help him up. His new cuts stung like shit and his legs were weak from the hit, but he could still move. He didn’t feel particularly thankful for it. He stumbled through the ruined wall, almost tripping over the bricks, and found the drone, twitching and oozing. He lifted his baton high and struck it, as hard as he could, until it lay dead. It was still as satisfying the first time he killed it.

The remains of the helicopter lay across the room, finally still, finally silent. It had destroyed the room, trashing it and bringing the walls and ceiling down around it, and it looked exactly as Tony remembered it. The rain was pattering softly from the roof, and the mornings chill leaked inside, but Tony could barely feel it.

He stepped forward slowly like he had done before, letting the baton drop from his fingers and clatter to the floor. He edged forward until he could see Steve’s legs, pointing at odd angles, and Tony could see a little bit of bone. Blood was smeared across the doors, dripping slowly to the floor. Tony hardened his heart, strengthened his stomach, and prepared for the worst.

He kept walking until he stood at Steve’s feet, looking down at him, and he was looking back with cloudy eyes and a pale, bloody face. His chest was barely moving with each breath, but he was still alive, clinging to life by only a thread. The thread would snap soon and the heart would stop beating. Until then, Tony dropped to his knees by Steve’s side and took his hand, still warm, holding it in-between his own. His skin was slick with oil and blood, and smeared it over Tony’s accidentally. His uniform was shredded, torn apart in the crash, and the smell of blood made him sick.

Steve’s breaths were loud and rattling as he grew closer to death, but he squeezed Tony’s hand faintly, like a newborn clutching his mother’s finger. He tried to summon a smile, but couldn’t. Tony couldn’t smile either, couldn’t even pretend for a dying man.

He spoke, in the quietest of whispers. “My middle name,” He said between his final breaths, grimacing like every word hurt. “is Grant.”

Tony’s thumb caressed Steve palm, and he murmured back, “Stephen Grant Rogers, huh?”

Steve couldn’t reply, and he was shaking like he was freezing, choking and convulsing, and Tony could hear the rattling and rumbling of the other drones, the ones awoken in the field. He didn’t flinch, even when the blood Steve choked on splattered across his skin and he didn’t look away from those blue eyes, filled with pain, and then filled with nothing at all.

The drones were upon him in seconds, and then he woke up in Heathrow, clean and physically pain free. It wasn’t a relief.

He didn’t get up. He lay there and listened to the sounds that had gradually become a part of him, the sounds he knew by heart. The soldiers were still shouting and guffawing in the distance, the woman was still speaking in other languages over the loudspeaker, and soon enough, footsteps came towards him and a familiar voice called out, “On your feet, asshole!”

Tony obeyed the order slowly, stiffly, getting to his feet and standing perfectly still, completely silent. The world seemed not the same as before, although it was- Tony felt like something had changed, even if that something may have been him. He listened, dazed when Coulson arrived, and let himself be lead in the exact same dance, and he performed all of his steps flawlessly if unenthusiastically, until it was time to return to Steve.

He stepped out onto the floor and the klaxon sounded angrily, and for the first time Tony thought it sounded like it was warning him away, telling him to leave while he still could. He kept walking, partly out of habit and partly out of the desire to see Steve again, listen to his voice, know he wasn’t still lying broken and bleeding in the middle of nowhere.

Tony watched, a little awed as Steve eased himself down from his position, to hop up and challenge him.

“Who are you?” Steve demanded, aggressively, and Tony flinched away for the first time, remembering just how he looked when he had found out about his lies, so angry, so violent. This Steve- he would never describe this as _his_ Steve, if he ever belonged to him- saw the way he recoiled, and looked visibly guilty, and when he continued, his voice was softer than it had ever been before. “I asked not to be disturbed, Private.”

Tony stared at him, taking in the life before him- the vivid blue eyes, the soft gold hair, the slow and steady breaths he took, the way his muscles bunched underneath the skin. He remembered the warmth of him, underneath his hands, how he looked when he smiled, how he sounded when he moaned, and how he looked when he died painfully, suffering.

How he looked when Tony failed him.

Tony took it all in, burning it to his memory and thought, _no. I won’t allow it._

“I’m sorry for disturbing you, Captain.” He muttered, quietly, and Steve frowned deeply, but didn’t call after him when he pivoted and walked away from the man he thought he may love. He walked past Sam without a word, barely even listening when the soldier murmured _‘I told you’_ , and he didn’t look back to see if Steve was watching him go.

He was.

-

It was thirty minutes before lights out that night and Tony was walking alone with his thoughts back to the barracks where J squad waited, before J squad found him. He was prepared. He had experienced this moment many times before, every time he had finished training with Steve.

“Stark!” Barton’s furious voice bellowed, echoing in the emptiness. At this time at night, they were the only ones out. Barton had taken advantage of their isolation many times.

Tony turned, expressionless to see the man storming up to him, a face like thunder, with Romanoff close behind, moving as silent as the shadow. They were complete opposites of each other, and Tony wondered how they had become so close. But then Barton was up in his face, right on cue, screaming at him wildly. “Where the hell have you been?!” The first time, Tony had backed away, but this time Tony had nothing to fear. “Coulson had us doing push ups for hours because of you!”

“Barton,” He said, offering him the chance to back down despite the fact he never took it. “I’m really not in the mood tonight.”

“Oh, you’re not in the mood?” He said mockingly, in a piss poor impersonation of his voice. It seemed to get worse every time he heard it, if that were possible. “Oh no, I better leave you alone then, shouldn’t I?” Barton grinned, an ugly thing, and raised his fist and swung for him, lightning fast.

Tony moved before he did, ducking out of the way, Barton’s fist sailing past him. The soldier almost stumbled, and Romanoff made a quiet noise, impressed. She watched from the side-lines, arms crossed behind her chest. No matter what happened in every loop, she only watched.

Tony had given him the chance, and he had refused it. So he straightened up from ducking, waiting for Barton to rear back up, his confusion clear, and he smiled, the expression empty of any mirth or happiness at all. “Alright, so watch this.” He tucked his hands behind his back, clasping his wrists tightly. Barton arched a brow. “And now, I’m going to close my eyes. You ready to kick my ass?”

Barton smirked, clearly thinking that Tony was an idiot, and as soon as Tony closed his eyes, he counted. One, two, and then Tony was ducking again to miss Barton’s attack before straightening, his back to the concrete wall, and then one, two, he was dodging again to miss Barton’s charge, and hearing his head smack into the wall, and his furious grunt of pain as he slid down the wall, no doubt clutching at his own head.

Tony opened his eyes with a smile completely void of satisfaction, and he looked to Romanoff, who was standing with wide eyes, her lips parted. He smiled at her, and nodded politely. “Have a nice night.” He said, and left without another word.

Barton was glaring at him from across the way when they prepared for combat the next morning, his eyes promising brutal revenge, but Tony paid him no heed. Barton didn’t even mock Sylvan this time for helping him, suiting him up even though Tony hadn’t needed the help for a long time.

But this time, she peered at his face, her own wrinkled with bewilderment. “Where’s your helmet?” She asked him, and Tony shook his head.

“I don’t wear it.” He told her, and she blinked. “It’s a distraction.”

She couldn’t manage words for a good few moments, gaping at him, her mouth refusing to produce words before she demanded, “Are you insane? Are you- have you been drinking?”

Tony didn’t bother replying, only instead checking his gauntlet, making sure it was fitted properly. It was a bad loop when he had forgotten to check it. “I need three more clips of 556, eight grenades and an extra battery. Maybe a pistol.” He requested, calmly, and when Sylvan didn’t move, he arched a brow at her. “Can you get those for me? I can’t really move, strapped up to this thing.”

She walked away with an air of contempt and worry, sending him strange looks over her shoulder, but she brought back what he requested. He thanked her, and she didn’t look at him for the rest of the flight to France. Barton didn’t even say a word to him, and nor did Odinson, and even though a small part of him that had gotten used to the mockery found that uncomfortable, it mostly relieved him. He didn’t feel like saying a word to anyone.

When they landed in the battle he let the cheering moron die without a flicker of guilt, not wanting to waste time on someone wholly irrelevant, and when he saw Steve’s ship crash, his heart leapt and a part of him begged him to stop and save him. He didn’t, moving on by as he kicked down the door, ignoring the sickness in his stomach and the self-loathing that tore him up on the inside. By the time he walked off the beach, alone and bloodied, he knew Steve was dead without a doubt.

He struggled with that lingering thought and the lonely silence he lived in all the way to the manor house, but he thought it was for the best. No, he _knew_ it was for the best.

Tony killed the drones there alone now without his armour, and without Steve being used as their punching bag he sustained wounds that sluggishly bled, but he stopped the bleeding as best he could and didn’t bother sending the night before grabbing the keys and leaving, long before he could get lost in old memories of a better time before it all went to hell. No thanks to him. He didn’t set the stove. He didn’t drink the coffee. He didn’t even look at the sofa.

He parroted Steve’s old movements, feeling too much like he was making a pilgrimage, repeating what he had done once upon a time. He tore down the rope from the helicopters blades, ignoring the stinging and complaining of his own wounds, and got in without a second thought, turning the key in the ignition and bringing it to life.

He left with a heart made of stone weighing him down.

-

When he arrived at the dam in the Bavarian Alps, the first thing that struck him was how cold it was.

It should have been obvious, really. When he had the vision he had only seen a blanket of white, thick snow suffocating any life that attempted to grow. But when he landed and stepped out, the wind and the snow greeted him, blasting against his cheeks. His clothes were far too thin for the climate, and he wanted to get indoors as quickly as possible, even with what was waiting for him.

There was space enough for him to land on the roof, a little clumsy and difficult due to the weather, but it didn’t matter. Taking off again afterwards would be simpler. The roof was slick with ice and he slipped a little on the surface, struggling to keep his balance. Snow fell slowly from the grey overcast sky, at an almost tentative speed, but caught and hurried along in the howling wind. It melted in his hair and froze his cheeks.

He made his way steadily to the stairwell, looking out at the mountains he had seen before in his vision as he passed. They were one of the most beautiful things he had ever seen, tall and quiet and imposing, and he knew Steve would have appreciated the sight, the stillness. There were probably no drones out in the snow- they were no doubt below, with their Omega, completely ignorant that soon their game would be finished.

Inside, the dam was bathed in shadow. He could barely see his hand in front of his face, and the instinctive fear was immediate. With the door open, light leaked in, illuminating his path, but as he slowly shut it, the darkness crept back in, imposing. He let out a shuddering breath, and the feeling of intense loneliness only doubled, the darkness seeping into his skin.

Thankfully, there was a case on the wall, and while Tony expected some kind of alarm, he found a box of five flares. He took them all muttering a quiet _thank Christ_ , and lit one immediately with a flick of his wrist, bathing the room in a sparking, deep red light. Hoping it wouldn’t alert anything to his presence, he dropped it down the gap in the stairwell, watching it fall, counting how many floors down he could go. It fell for a few seconds before clattering to the ground, hissing, lighting up the bottom floor and showing him it was four floors down. He remembered seeing the Omega hiding down in the depths, down the tunnel, so he went down the whole way as stealthily as he could, step by step, weapon raised.

As soon as he reached the bottom floor, he toed the flare forward, sending it skittering along the long, dark hallway that led from it. It was like something out of a horror movie, the lone corridor that built anticipation, the audience growing more and more tense, knowing something terrible was going to happen. Except this time, Tony wasn’t comfortable at home, part of the audience- he was the lead actor, the idiot caught up in all this nonsense.

And he had to go forward, no matter how much he wanted to crawl back home with his tail between his legs.

The flare began to lose its lustre by the time he reached the end, but the light remained, faintly- natural light, coming in from under the door. Tony leant his body against it, slowly pressing it open with his weight and peeking out, checking both directions carefully. He was in a hallway he recognised, with multiple doors leading out and windows set into the walls, letting him see out into the world again. He was glad he wasn’t in the cold anymore, and so high up in the helicopter. The height and the wind howling around him was a little too much for him.

There was no movement, so he continued, nudging the door open and keeping his gun ahead of him at all times. He walked the path his vision had taken him down, recognising signs and doorways as he moved. He listened intently, waiting for the slightest implication that a drone was lurking anywhere nearby, but there was nothing. The building was silent. Tony wasn’t sure whether or not to be relieved about that.

He kept moving on. He had a job to do, after all.

He followed the guidance he had been given in a dream and it lead him to where he needed to go, winding him around in a maze of corridors that led downwards, and before long, he had completely lost track of where he had come from. He supposed he could just try to look for the roof again, he would hardly forget where the roof was, but it still made him nervous, like was being led to deeper and deeper into his final grave.

Tony came to the Omega’s nest down in water appeared to be sewers far too quickly for his liking, and halted in another long corridor, memories rushing like a river, remembering just how it looked in the dream- nestled down there, huge and terrifying, and he didn’t want to go any closer. But he did, with very small and cautious steps, moving silently. He tried his best to ignore the mould and the damp, the putrid smell of waste. He reached to his belt, where only one of the eight grenades remained and pulled one loose, rolling it in his palm. He had to use it wisely. He edged forward, breath caught in his chest, ready to dump it and run at any notice.

He came to the edge, and took in a breath. Then, he poked his head over the edge, staring down, ready to kill the creature that had started all of this- and he squinted, suspicious, as he saw nothing down at the bottom. He could see nothing but thick shadow.

 _This isn’t right,_ he barely had a chance to think, before a drone leapt out of the darkness, a sudden pulse of orange against the shadow.

His shout of alarm echoed in the building, and lifting his arms to defend himself he dropped his gun and the grenade, it tumbling into the darkness where he couldn’t see. The creature hadn’t lunged at him, it had only spooked him, and when it pulsed forward, clinging to the side of the tunnel he jerked backwards, helpless. He almost fumbled for his pistol in an attempt at defence- but he only had one bullet. Hey may have needed to save it for himself in case of the worst, and so he stood against the creature, trying not to show his fear, knowing he had no means to defend himself. But he supposed he didn’t need to.

He backed up, footsteps echoing, and the creature followed him, claws scratching against the concrete floor and eyes bright, intelligent. It made several movements as if it was going to leap for him, and he flinched every time, but it was only toying with him. Tony bared his teeth at it, squaring himself up even though it wasn’t going to do a single thing- he was going to die anyway, and then what would he do? _Where the hell is the Omega? Was Banner wrong?_

From behind him, he suddenly heard the thud of something heavy landing on its feet, and he turned, full of dread, to see something awfully familiar and very inconvenient.

The Alpha was looking directly at him as it eased itself down to the ground, its eyes sharp and cold, its blue skin shimmering under the faint overhead light. It was just as large as he remembered it, taking up almost the entire corridor, and it was prowling closer, trapping him in-between itself and the drone, who was shrieking, and it sounded disconcertingly like laughter. It stood at the mouth of the corridor, waiting for him to try and make his escape. It was like they had been planning for this, waiting for him all along- like they had tricked him.

He was completely helpless, trapped between a rock and a hard place, and he needed to get out before something terrible happened.

Without a second thought, Tony’s hand went to his waist, and he pulled out the pistol, pressing it to his forehead and praying to God it killed him quick. His warm finger pressed firmly on the cold trigger- and the Alpha screeched, glitching forward and lashing out before darting backwards again, knocking the gun out of his hand. The gun went off, hitting him, and he doubled over at the pain, crying out, swearing.

He had shot himself, somewhere, he didn’t know where, but there was so much pain and so much blood, dripping down his arms, gathering on the floor. He gasped, body feeling like it was on fire, and he was panicking, barely able to keep his mind straight, so scared and confused about what might happen, what exactly they wanted from him. He wondered, if the Alpha killed him, bled him out, if he would lose his power- if the battle on the beach would be lost, permanently. He stayed doubled over, looking at the creature with wide eyes, staggering backwards still as it hounded him, moving torturously slow.

He wondered if he would bleed out in time before the Alpha took his life. He was losing his lifeblood quickly, his arm slick and slippery, but he didn’t think it would kill him quick enough.

Tony backed up further, wondering how much space he had before the drone was just behind him, and he had nowhere to go. He looked back and forth, to his sides, wondering if there was any way to escape, even just anyway to avoid them before he could die- and then he saw to one side, following the wall were pipes carrying water, with a gap that reached far below, something big and deep enough for him to hide inside and roll into so the Chitauri couldn’t get him.

He took enough step backwards, preparing himself and hoping to god that it would work, before launching himself to one side, mere moments before the Alpha darted in, presumably for the kill. Its claws landed where Tony once stood, and ignoring the agony the pressure put on his wounds, he kept rolling, getting as far away from them as physically possible.

The Alpha was, to put it mildly, furious. It tried to crawl after him but was too big- even the significantly smaller drone was much too large. In their rage, they tore the pipes apart, the sound of ruined metal screeching in his ears. The water burst free, rushing out, and he was pummelled by a sudden wave, pushing him even further away from their reach, covering his head in no time at all. He was unable to escape.

Soon enough, the water was pouring into his lungs, and he smiled victoriously.

-

Banner was staring at him from across the table, wide eyed, thrown into a situation he had yet to fully comprehend. Tony didn’t even feel bad this time, even after hauling him from work with no explanation only to say, “The Omega wasn’t there.”

He was sure Banner’s brain worked fast, had to if he was such an intelligent man, but it didn’t seem to be running very well today. “What?”

“ _The Omega wasn’t there,”_ He stressed, running out of patience very quickly.

Banner’s eyes fell on Steve, who stood tight lipped and silent, his face dark. “He’s you?”

Steve nodded, but didn’t say a word. He looked deep in thought, no doubt trying to dream up another way to win the war. Tony knew him too well now, and when Steve looked at him for the ‘first’ time on the practise floor he was only greeted with that unfamiliarity, eyes that showed no recognition. It was only marginally better than the cold contempt from before.

Banner looked back to Tony, thick brows furrowing. He put his hand behind his back. “Prove it. How many fingers am I-”

“Okay, no.” Tony interrupted firmly, waving his hand as Steve looked exasperated at his side. “We’re not doing this again.”

Bruce cocked his head, frowning deeply. “How many times have we-”

“A lot. You had four fingers behind your back.”

“Just let him speak, Bruce.” Steve said softly, and after a moment, he nodded gingerly. He didn’t look too happy about it, but his hand went back into its fist.

“So,” Banner began, very slowly, crossing his arms against his chest. He looked thoughtful. “It wasn’t there?”

“No. It was an ambush. They knew I,” He stumbled for only a moment, with the ignorant Steve pressed so closely at his side. “Knew we were coming. The visions weren’t real, they were tricking us. The Omega is somewhere else, I know it.”

“Why would they,” Steve began to ask, and Tony replied quickly, not wanting to waste any more time than they already had. He wanted this same day to be over. He wasn’t in the mood for any more of the Chitauri’s games, any more of Steve’s empty eyes.

“I think the Alpha wanted to kill me,” He said. “Maybe drain my blood- I would have lost the power, and they could kill me permanently to get me out the way.”

Both Banner and Steve grimaced, sympathetic, and Tony was grateful. He didn’t fancy the idea of being bled out either. “So they hunted you, gave you false visions, tried to kill you- we don’t know where the Alpha really is?”

Under both their scrutiny, Tony shifted where he stood, a little uncomfortable. “No.”

Bruce let out a very long breath, and pinched his nose between two fingers, looking more tired than Pepper after a long day of dealing with idiots. Thinking of her was a fresh hurt. Eventually, he managed, “Well, that’s it. We’re done. There isn’t anything more we can do.”

Tony sucked in a breath, letting the harsh reality sink in- but Steve shook his head, rapping his knuckles against the table harshly to keep their attention. He wasn’t smiling, but his eyes were shining, like Tony knew they always did when he got a reckless and frankly moronic idea in his head that would no doubt get killed- he had seen it plenty of times on the beach. “No, we’ve still got one more card to play.”

He gestured to one of the bits of machinery that lay on the table, the same thing he had threatened to stab Tony with when he and Banner had first met. He picked it up again, and Tony immediately took a few steps back just to be safe. He had remembered how unfortunately pointy that thing could be.

Banner looked exasperated. “Steve, that thing doesn’t work. It’s useless-”

“This one might be,” Steve interrupted, tossing it in his palm and suddenly smiling, very wide. It clicked, like something was loose inside. “But your other one isn’t.”

Tony looked at him, and Bruce pulled a face. “Steve, you know that’s-”

Steve ignored him, turning around to Tony, and tapping it against his palm firmly as he spoke. Tony suppressed the urge to flinch away with each smack. “Bruce built a prototype of this device back at Whitehall,” He explained. “It’s a transponder- it’s built to be stuck into a live Alpha and it was intended to tap into the wavelength between it and the Omega. This way, if we used it, we could find out the true location of the Omega.”

“That was the idea.” Bruce informed him, glowering at Steve. “It doesn’t work, like I said.”

“But your other one probably did.” Steve argued back, gesturing wildly with the transponder.

 _Oh, wow_ , Tony thought, bitterly. _Probably works. The world is saved. Rejoice._ He considered saying it, too, but he didn’t want this Steve to have such a low opinion of him quite so early in the loop. He kept his mouth firmly shut, until he wondered aloud, “How do we get you the tech to make this one work? Or the working one?” _Probably working,_ his mind reminded him, helpfully.

Bruce’s nose twitched as he thought, running his oily hand through his already messy hair. “Well, the one I built probably did work- I just didn’t get a chance to test it. I was excited about it, pre-emptively told my superiors, and then,” Bruce smiled that fake smile of his. Tony knew it well. “I lost my job.”

Tony nodded, slowly. “So we need to get to Whitehall and grab it.” _That doesn’t seem too hard._

At this, Steve suddenly looked a little reluctant, fingers drumming against the useless transponder. He lowered his gaze, seemingly avoiding looking into Tony’s face, and alarm bells started going off in his mind. He had thought too soon, clearly. “Okay, what is it now?” He asked, looking between the two men and eyeing them suspiciously. “I don’t like that look.”

Steve raised his head, but looked at him with his head tilted down, almost bashfully, and Tony couldn’t say a bad word to anyone who looked at him like that, let alone Steve, even as he said, “Bruce said that when they took the transponder away, they gave it to someone high up for safe keeping.” He paused for a moment, before continuing. “Someone high up in SHIELD.”

Tony gazed at him for a few beats, not quite getting it, until it clicked. A mix of horror and annoyance bloomed inside him, and he smoothed a hand over his face, trying to keep his patience. “You’re fucking kidding me.” He said, slightly muffled by his own hand. “You’re having a laugh.”

“Sorry,” Steve said, and just because it was him, Tony forgave him for sounding a tiny bit amused. “I know how excited you must be to see him again.”

Banner hummed across the room, smiling himself. “I take it you don’t have such a great history of Director Fury either. Welcome to the club.”

“Looks like you might be getting your revenge a little sooner than you think,” Steve said, putting the transponder to one side. “I doubt he’s going to willingly give it up, even if it is completely useless to him.”

Tony couldn’t quite tell how he felt about seeing the man who sent him to his death again- it was all a haze of something that didn’t feel quite real. It had been like that for a while, now, and he had only felt real when Steve was smiling at him, but now, it was all a daze, something that had not quite been, and never would quite be. It felt almost like he was outside of his own body, watching himself struggle, but he knew the stakes could be much higher than that if he wasn’t careful.

If the Director had the two of them captured, if they put him in a psych ward, it’d be game over unless he could find a way to restart by some miracle. This was going to be difficult, and yet he had little choice.

Tony removed the hand from his face, planting the both of them on his hips, and sighed, before looking to Steve and summarizing. “So, we have to get to Whitehall, somehow get the both of us- who are kind of on Fury’s shit list- to get him to give us the transponder, use said transponder even though it might not work, and then finally get the hell out of Dodge to finally kill the Omega.”

Steve grinned at him, skin around his eyes crinkling, and Tony’s heart ached. He only looked more handsome when he smiled, but Tony already knew that. “Easy.”

Bruce laughed at that, but it wasn’t a pleasant sound. It was weighed down with bitterness and resignation. “Please,” He said, not noticing at Steve and Tony looked at one another, both having a silent, private conversation. “You wouldn’t make it anywhere near the door, the two of you would be arrested on sight, they know the both of you- hey!”

They had already both turned in almost perfect unison with matching, mischievous smiles and Tony almost felt lighter and they flounced away and up the stairs together, confident in their ridiculous plan. But there was always something trying to rain on their parade.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Bruce called after them, sounding put out. “You need an Alpha to get this to work- an incredibly rare, and live Alpha.”

Steve beamed at him, toothily, and said with a quick pat to Tony’s chest, “We don’t need one. We have the next best thing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings in this chapter for some graphic violence/gore.
> 
> I have a tumblr, johnnytopsider.


	7. one foot on the gas, one foot in the grave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony and Steve meet with Director Fury, and deal with the problems that come.

They stood on the London corner, peering around at the building with both interest and anxiety. The building where the Director waited, where Tony had been hauled out unconscious was only half way up the road, waiting for them to pluck up the courage to enter. They had been out there for almost five minutes now, just staring. Neither of them wanted to take the first step.

“This is going to be fun.” Tony’s sarcasm was painfully evident, and Steve hummed, nodding in agreement. It was the first thing they had to do on their increasingly difficult list, and yet it was the one he was dreading the most. He would rather fight off an Alpha with his bare hands than walk into that building, but he supposed it had to be done. He thought, a little childishly, that at least if he was doing it, he got to drag Tony down with him.

“I haven’t met Fury often,” Steve said, eyeing the building with distaste. “But every time I did, he was the one ordering me to be taken away for a psychiatric evaluation. I don’t have the best memories of him.”

“Me neither.” Tony said with faux cheer. “Let’s go yell at the bastard.”

“Tony.” Steve said, warningly, and Tony rolled his eyes, as if to say _I know, I know._ “We have to be very careful. We just need to get it and get out, hopefully without getting completely screwed over in the process.”

“Yeah, I get it. No shooting the place up.” Tony smiled, as dazzlingly as possible before Steve could scold him again for even considering it, and said, “Let’s go.” He stepped around the corner and into the street, grin only widening as Steve blustered a protest behind him and hurried to catch up, scurrying to his side. He swapped sides, forcing Steve to his right, and at the Captain’s strange look said, “Trust me, it’s necessary.”

Steve arched his eyebrow. “You’ve been here before.”

Tony nodded as they moved down the street, footsteps thudding on the pavement, moving almost in unison. He could match Steve’s pace almost perfectly, now. He liked being in sync- rather pathetically, it made him feel more confident. “You keep shooting people in the head. And then me. You’re rude, Rogers.”

“Sorry.” Steve said, a little bashfully, and then they were almost there, just opposite the building. Steve almost hesitated before crossing the road, but Tony grasped his forearm and tugged him along, guiding him.

“Sorry,” He murmured, aware of the people who occasionally moved in and out of the building, or lingered outside. “We need to move fast.” His eyes flickered past Steve, and Steve angled his head to see cars coming, official looking black cabs. Tony sped up, and he followed suit. “The Chinese delegation will come out in a moment, and we’ve gotta move fast. One of the men, the one in the yellow armband recognises you immediately. Curse you, for having such a lovely, recognisable face.”

The vague flirting was instinct, and he swore inwardly, digging the nails of his hand into the palm to remind himself that this was bad, this was a dark road to follow with a pitfall awaiting the two of them, but in his ignorance Steve snickered, looking almost delighted. He pressed up close as the delegation emerged, a small group of men heading down the stairs, and the one with the yellow armband glanced offhandedly at Tony as he passed- never seeing Steve.

“Good.” He murmured praise when they were one step into the complicated process. They still had much further to go, but Tony knew how to guide the Captain. “Keep to my right. And give me your arm.”

Steve did, without hesitation, and they walked into the building together. It was just how Tony remembered it, from when he had been there technically only a few hours previously, but it was much busier. There were many people streaming down the hallways, too many that he knew would recognise Steve if he wasn’t careful, and he had to either keep them distracted or keep Steve out of their sight. He looped Steve’s arm in his like they were lovers taking a walk down a country lane, and forced him to stop, in the opening of the hallway.

Tony counted to three in his head, ignoring the confused looks Steve was sending him. The man was sharp enough to not question him however, and he only look vaguely uncomfortable as Tony guided him, taking wide steps, counting quietly under his breath. It was too low to hear. Tony glanced around the room, hyperaware of every pair of eyes, and then he took an abrupt step backwards, pulling Steve with him, and then on the wall to Steve’s right the elevator opened, at the exact same time there were men coming around the corridor, chatting faintly.

Tony waited for the man in the elevator to leave, completely unaware of the suspicious pair before pulling Steve inside. Steve let himself be dragged, confusion mounting, but when the two men passed them by he prevented the door from closing and pulled Steve back out again, muttering his apologies.

This time, he guided Steve in front of him, pushing him forward almost like a human shield. There was a soldier in front of Steve, one that would no doubt recognise him, and Steve eyed him cautiously as they walked, Tony still counting, down this time. The Captain tried to prepare for what would happen when he reached zero, but it was hard to prepare for something when you had no idea what it was.

It turned out that the soldier had forgotten something- with a string of curses that would have made a sailor blush, the soldier turned, about to walk into Steve- but Tony practically spun him, pulling him close, almost into his arms, and the soldier carried on by, squeezing past Steve with a soft ‘excuse me’. If he thought the impromptu twirl in the hallway was strange, he didn’t comment, and he didn’t even look at Steve’s face.

Tony kept on walking, hurriedly, and Fury’s office wasn’t far away. They only had a small stretch to make, and Steve found himself holding his breath as they moved, still surrounded by people. Up ahead, he recognised Hill with her back turned to them, speaking with another man, appearing to be a civilian and he prayed to God she didn’t turn around and spot either of them. Judging by the look on Tony’s face, he was just as terrified of her, but he looked confident. Steve could only hope he had gotten past her before. Not far beyond her was Fury’s door.

“Keep your head down.” Tony said in his ear, his grip tightening, and he guided him further to the left, still in the corridor but further away from where Hill stood. His speed fluxed, going from fast to slow in a short space of time, and Steve wanted to snap at him to _make up his damn mind,_ but then Hill turned, and his heart stopped. He lowered his head, gazing at his own two feet, and nothing happened. There were no voices calling after him, no one stepping into his path. He vaguely heard Tony let out a breath, all the tension seeping out, and he could safely assume the worst had passed.

They approached Fury’s door with no challenge, Steve not being able to resist his suspicious glance backwards, even when Tony tugged him forward, hissing _don’t._

Without any pause or announcement of his presence, Tony pushed the door open and stepped inside, holding it open for Steve to follow. He closed it afterwards, firmly, making sure it clicked. He then stepped forward, making a beeline for the desk, while Steve lingered, taking in the office for the first time.

Fury was facing away from them, behind his desk, and he didn’t look up as he spoke. “I’ve asked not to be disturbed.” He called out to who he likely assumed was Hill. “This had better be very important.”

“Is the end of the world important enough for you, Director?” Tony replied, sounding insufferably smug, and Steve wondered just how far had they gotten. Steve wondered if it was the complete, genuine first time he was seeing the room. Fury didn’t start, he was far too collected for that, but he turned, looking only faintly startled for a very brief second. Tony looked pleased by that, knowing that Fury had hardly expected to ever see his face again.

The Director didn’t let a single beat pass before arching a brow and saying, casually, “Well, this is a surprise.”

“A pleasant one, I assume?” He was grinning, as if he wasn’t speaking to the man who had gotten him killed. He circled around the desk, and Fury eyed him in an almost wary manner as Tony pushed back the chair for him, always smiling. “It’s always lovely to see me again.”

Steve took the action as his cue to draw his handgun, aiming it directly for Fury. He cleared his throat, drawing the Director’s attention, and Steve thought it was commendable how his expression didn’t even flicker once. “Take a seat, sir.” He said, all politeness, nodding his head to the office chair.

Fury didn’t need any convincing. He took the seat, looking to Tony as he settled. “I’m impressed, Stark.” He sounded anything but. “I don’t know how you managed to escape your…escorts, but you’ve managed to do it, and come all the way back to me with my most decorated soldier.” He cast one eye over Steve, piercing, and he tried not to shiver. He lowered his weapon, not wanting to seem over threatening if it wasn’t necessary and took a seat several feet away from them, watching carefully for any sign of danger. Tony himself took a seat, perching on the edge of Fury’s desk. Steve wondered if he was going to get away with that.

“Well, it’s a funny story.” He began, conversationally, as if being an anecdote over dinner with an old friend. “It’s a long one, and it’s going to sound completely made up, but the longer I continue, the more rational it’s going to sound.” As he finished his words, he shifted forward, leaning over the desk- and as soon as his fingers made contact with the phone on Fury’s desk, it started to ring, loud and shrill. Steve barely repressed a smile. _Show off._ “Tell them you’ll call them back.” Tony ordered as he offered it to Fury.

The Director didn’t look impressed. “Tell who?”

“It’s General Rumlow, calling from Halifax. His plane’s been delayed. Shitty weather. Bad storms, I hear.” Tony gestured for him to take the phone, and with a moment’s pause, he did.

“Director Fury.” He said into the phone, never taking his eyes of Tony for a moment. His voice was very even, and Steve could take nothing from his tone or expression even as the phone call went on. Eventually, he said, “Thank you, Rumlow. I’ll call you back.” He hung up, and as soon as the phone was safely returned, Tony continued.

“Tomorrow’s fight is a disaster. I’m dead in less than five minutes, along with everyone else. I get that’s what a suicide mission means, but this is different- the enemy knows we’re coming.” He leant forward, as if sharing a secret, and never stopping, even as Fury looked at him like he was completely insane. “Before I died, I killed a Chitauri but this one wasn’t normal. It passed an ability onto me, if that’s what you want to call it, but I live the same day over and over again. Less of a gift, more of a curse, but that’s not my point. The Chitauri have the same ability, too.”

Fury looked around to Steve, and smiled, very slightly. Steve knew he recognised the story, and made no response. He made his face an impassive mask, hopefully unreadable. They stared each other out silently, as Tony got up from his seat, and settled into a chair just opposite the desk. He crossed his legs, sitting properly and trying not to think of how well things had gone last time he sat in this chair and said, “Tell Hill everything’s fine.”

Right on cue again, before Fury could ask, the doors opened and Tony could hear the familiar click of heels as Hill entered. Steve brought his gun under the table, before she could spot it. The noise stopped as she hesitated at the door upon seeing them. “I’m sorry, sir,” She said carefully, likely wondering just how the hell they had slipped past her, but she didn’t sound sorry in the slightest. “I thought you were alone.”

“It’s fine.” Fury said, and the both of them were liars. She came forward again.

“She’s typed up those orders so you could authorize them, and she hated every second. She’s not a secretary, and you shouldn’t treat her like one. She was so bored she accidentally left out the reports on the fuel dump at Greenwich.” Tony said, like it was nothing, and when Hill appeared by his side and passed Fury the folder, he watched, with a mischievous expression.

Tony looked at her, and smiled in what he thought was a charming manner. Hill blinked down at him, no doubt wondering how they had slipped past and how she had not noticed the man her boss had arrested re-entering the premises, but she tried to compose herself as Fury flicked through the folder. “Hello. Your name is Maria Hill, and you were born on April 4th.” His smile abruptly turned nasty, as she looked at him, a little confused but not completely bewildered- not yet, anyway. “The Director used his position to keep a soldier friend of yours safe, away from the worst of the fighting. I’m not sure who yet, but believe me, I’m working on it.” He shrugged, in a ‘what can you do?’ fashion before continuing. “Tell the Director his dinner’s been cancelled. The call came in just a moment ago.”

Steve shifted in his seat, almost more unnerved than the SHIELD members. He supposed Tony knew what he was doing- he had lived the day, after all, but he seemed to be just showing off, being rude to a man that could order soldiers to arrest them, hunt them, kill them, whatever he wanted. He watched, concerned, waiting for any sign of danger.

Hill had gradually grown more and more pale as Tony spoke, and she looked completely rattled as she turned to Fury, who was staring at Tony now, having finished leafing through. “Your dinner has been cancelled, sir.”

He didn’t look at her. “Thank you. You forgot the Greenwich reports.” She let out a very quiet breath, through her nose. “Thank you, Maria. Dismissed.”

Steve waited until she was gone, doors closed behind her, before bringing the gun back out and leaning forward. “Tony,” He said, softly. “We should get out of here, this isn’t getting anywhere.”

Tony spun a little on the chair to send him a pointed look. “Steve, please. Let’s talk this out like reasonable adults this time.” Spinning back, he didn’t bother to lower his voice. “Please don’t shoot him again.”

Nick arched an eyebrow and Steve blushed furiously, having to look away. He doubted he had really done that, but who was he to call him out on it? Tony just beamed at him, showy as ever, and rolled back to Fury.

“Okay, look, I’m going to be honest with you.” Tony said, clapping his hands together and leaning forward. “This isn’t the first time we’ve had this conversation. It’s because you’re stubborn, and frankly, a bit of an asshole.” Fury cracked a tiny smile at that, but neither could tell if it was in any way genuine. “You won’t believe me when I tell you that Doctor Bruce Banner was right, and the enemy can manipulate time. This little invasion of ours won’t succeed. It doesn’t matter how many bodies you throw at it. The only way you can defeat them is to find the power source and kill it.” Tony looked at him for a moment, letting it sink in, before he pointed, across the room, to where a poster rather terribly covered up a safe. If it was a permanent setting, it would have had a painting over it, but Fury had to make do. Tony gestured to it. “The only means of being able to find this thing is in that safe.”

Fury glanced at it, as if regretting how obvious it was, but it was too late. Steve could only hope that Tony’s little show had convinced him, and that he wasn’t going to call for backup. It would only be a moment’s inconvenience, but Steve worried about Tony’s metal health. It wasn’t easy for him at Verdun, and it couldn’t be easy for him now.

Tony was still talking, doing one of the things he did best. “Every time I sit here and tell you the absolute truth about what happens tomorrow, you don’t listen, and everything goes to shit. London falls. The world follows.”

He fell silent, finally, and waited for Fury to respond.

The man looked at him for a very long moment, staring at him, blinking very slowly with absolutely no emotion on his face. It was disconcerting and impressive, in the same vein. Then, he ran his hand over his desk and sighed, rising from his chair. “So let’s think, for one second, about what would happen if I can’t think of a good, reasonable excuse for this little show you’ve just put on for me.” He stepped towards the safe, steps slow and sure, and Steve and Tony could only watch, hopeful. Fury ripped the poster down, uncaringly, and tapped in the key code quickly. Opening up the safe, he continued. “Doctor Banner helpfully informed me that this device,” He pulled out the prototype transporter out, using both hands to hold the two separate parts connected by a thick black wire. “Only works when you have a real live Chitauri to use it on. What use is it to you, exactly?”

Tony got up and moved for it, and Steve did the same, raising the gun out of paranoia. “That’s for us to know, Director.”

Fury laughed, a noise neither man had heard and felt particularly safe hearing. “Please,” He said, still chuckling. “You come to me making all this racket about the end of the world and then say it’s not my concern? Sounds like it’s my concern.”

Tony cocked his head to one side, drawing up to Fury. “So it’s up to you. What would you do if you believed my entire story?”

“I’d find this power source of yours and bomb it out of existence.” Fury said, easily. “It’s neat, and it works.”

Steve barely suppressed a snort, and Tony shrugged. “Then you’re not mentally equipped to fight this thing,” He replied, just as easy. “And you never will be.”

Fury stared at him, for a worryingly long time, until he hummed, and smiled, very sarcastically. Tony had been on the receiving end of such smiles before, but none of scary as this. He tried not to quiver under Fury’s scrutiny, and eventually, the horrible moment ended in the best way possible- the Director offered him the transporter, wordlessly.

Tony took it, before he could change his mind, a little concerned. _That was easier than I expected._ He turned to look back at Steve, who also looked a little startled. They exchanged a look, shrugging a little at each other, before Tony turned back to Fury. “Thank you.” He said, quickly, and moved away, heading over to Steve. He was suddenly very glad Steve had the gun- he didn’t like what happened last time he walked away from Fury. He kept moving, nervously, but Fury never stopped him or yelled ‘psych!’ so he assumed he was safe.

Steve was looking at him with wide eyes, looking amazing. He glanced down at the transporter and asked, “What do we do now?”

The moment having had appropriate time to sink in, Tony grinned at him, boyishly, clutching the transporter like a kid with a Christmas present. “I don’t know!” He said, sounding overjoyed. “We’ve never gotten this far.”

Without guidance, Steve felt a little lost, but for the moment, he had no need to worry. Leaving the building was much easier than entering, with people looking their way, but frankly not caring about two men simply walking down the hallway, even if they were recognised as the Hero and the heir to Stark Industries. Tony could feel Hill’s eyes on his back as he left, burning a hole into him, but he clutched the transporter tightly, getting it safely out being his only goal for the moment.

They came out the front two doors and took in gulps of fresh air, glad to be quite literally tasting freedom once more. Inwardly, Tony was surprised that they had emerged without bullets in the backs, or being tasered again. It had only happened the once, but he wasn’t eager to relive the experience. They both took moments to relax, twin grins appearing, hearts lightening at the fact the most dreaded part was done.

“That was easy!” Tony said, bouncing happily down the stairs, and that was precisely when everything went to hell.

“Stop right there!” A man shouted in the quiet street, and soldiers poured onto the road, all clutching weapons and making a beeline to circle around them. “Nobody move!” They all took positions behind cover, aiming for them and clearly unafraid to do what was necessary to either bring them down or bring them in. Neither Steve nor Tony was sure exactly what their orders were.

Steve stared at the soldiers, taking in how many there were, how well armed they were, just how impossible it would be for him and Tony to escape in one piece. He listened to the soldier’s demands for them to stand down, and considered what might happen if they surrendered. He had no doubt they would never be able to get away.

He looked to Tony, who was standing very still, clutching the transporter to his chest like it was a human child.

“I shouldn’t have said that.” He said, very weakly, the last thing he got to say before Steve pulled out his gun and shot him in the head.

-

It took them five tries to get it right, but when they did, Tony made sure they got it right in style.

Unfortunately, Steve apparently had very little care for style, and he forced the sports car they had stolen through the tightest gap Tony had ever seen. His heart leapt into his throat and he was pretty sure it was trying to escape and jump out the window, but it stayed firmly in even as he screamed louder than he ever had in his life, the passenger doors grinding and sparking as they were forced against the concrete walls of the underground parking garage or another poor unsuspecting car that didn’t deserve its fate.

“You are the _worst_ driver!” Tony cried out over the sounds of the roaring engine, the squeal of the tires, the sound of guns from behind them and bullets thudding into the boot. Steve didn’t grace him with a response, focusing on getting them the hell out as quickly as he could. He was leaving the soldiers in the dust, but they still had to get up to the surface and out of the reaches of the others. Tony had no clue how he was going to do it, and despite his criticism, he was glad Steve was driving. He didn’t want that responsibility at all.

The transporter was in his lap, thankfully, and he fumbled with it as the car jerked around a sharp corner, narrowly missing another. Tony tried to distract himself from the thoughts of collision and fiery death by flicking the little switch on the device, and still flinching even though he knew the five little spikes were going to greet him, very enthusiastically.

Staring at it, he realised he had no idea what to do with it. He had some ideas, but he didn’t like any of them.

He asked Steve exactly that, having to shout it over the deafening noises, and Steve called back “Stick it in your leg!”

_Wow, I’d rather not,_ he thought, horrified, even though he supposed he had known all along what was going to happen with it. He supposed it could go worse places. He shot Steve a vaguely terrified look, but he wasn’t looking, too busy trying not to let them end up smeared all over the windshield.

Tony took a deep breath and held it high, his fingers going white with his tight drip, and tried to psych himself up to stab himself. _Do it, you loser,_ he told himself, breathing in and out, _do it._ He almost did, a few time, sucking in a breath and bringing it down but having to stop before it pierced skin. He swore under his breath, lifting it again and hating that this was necessary.

Steve rolled his eyes and reached over with one hand, curling his around Tony’s, and brought the transponder down on Tony’s thigh as hard as he could.

The points pierced through his clothes like they were nothing and stabbed into his skin, and Tony screamed at the pain- and then the world changed around him, suddenly thrown into deep shadow. He looked up, suddenly afraid, and gazed out of the window, looking at the garage. The car was still moving, but in slow motion, even when Steve took another sudden corner. He felt strange, out of his body- he couldn’t feel the leather of the seat underneath him anymore, couldn’t feel the pain of the transponder in his leg.

Then, the world flickered around him and was ripped away from him, and he saw the vision like he was really there. The world was dark, the sky like deep velvet and city streetlamps had been torn down from the roads, leaving the world in the absence of light. He could see stone and falling water, perhaps a ruined fountain, and a twisted and intricate tower of metal, lying on its side. He recognised it as the Eiffel Tower, torn free and half destroyed on the floor.

“Tony!” Steve’s voice sounded very far away, like he had fallen down into a ravine, calling out to him. He sounded anxious, urgent. “Is it working? Can you see anything?”

He tried to move his lips, and while it felt like he was in a dream, caught in slow motion, he could. It felt heavy and was harder to do than Tony thought, but as the world changed again he said, “I can see it, I-”. The world was replaced by miles of water that covered the city, tall trees only just standing above the flood. There were buildings on the horizon, huge and ornate, and amongst them he could see an odd shape, something almost pointy and shimmering, catching his eye. The vision brought him closer, the glowing shape suddenly before him. The buildings were closer, the water just as deep and it must have been freezing, but he couldn’t feel a thing. He looked at the shape, seeing the familiar pyramid shape shining a gentle blue from within, and he realized what it was. “It’s the Louvre.” He said, hoping Steve could hear him. He blinked and the sight changed, taking him inside the building, where he could see that it was ruined. Metal and rubble was scattered across the place, and water was pouring inside, but before he could look any closer it lead him down, into the depths, below the surface. “I’m inside, but I’m going down.”

Then, he saw the Omega, deep in the depths, just as overwhelming as it was when he first saw it. It was residing in water, surrounded by shredded metal and completely unaware that Tony could see it-

“Can you see the Omega?” Steve asked, sounding suddenly much closer, almost right by his side, and then Tony came rushing back to reality, sucking in a breath too quickly and choking. The car was moving at an unnerving speed again, still trying to find its way out of the concrete maze and Steve was swearing at his side. “Tony!”

“Yeah, yeah, I saw it.” He sat up his in his chair, only faintly remembering that he was restrained by the seatbelt. He leant up against it, taking a moment in an attempt to adjust against physical feeling again, like he had been pulled out of water, hauled back to land. Breathing was a struggle and his heart felt light, beating irregularly. His hands, still curled around the transporter than was still imbedded in his leg, jerked it out, and he dropped it to the floor. He didn’t need it anymore. “It’s- It’s in Paris.”

“Convenient.” Steve sounded a little pleased. “We have to get away from here so they don’t arrest us- then we can restart the day safely, escape the beach tomorrow and get to Paris. Plan?”

“Yeah, that makes sense-“ Tony was cut off with a yelp as Steve jolted forward at another swerve, and looking over Tony noticed for the first time that Steve had neglected to put on his seatbelt. He panicked- he didn’t want Steve to end up in a ball of fire today, thank you kindly, even if Tony could restart.

“Jesus, Steve, put your fucking seatbelt on!” He yelled, reaching out across him and grabbing for the fabric. Steve protested with a ‘Tony!’ but the man was adamant- he wasn’t having Steve fly over the dashboard if anything went wrong. He momentarily struggled, clicking it into place. “Fucking hell, Steve, you’re going to get yourself-”

“Get back in your seat!” The Captain snapped, and Tony immediately obeyed out of instinct, shrinking back. He gripped his own seatbelt tightly, hoping it would be enough to save him if everything went wrong, and dimly wondered what his face might look like if the airbags weren’t triggered. He imagined it wouldn’t be pretty.

Steve swore suddenly at his side, the most curses Tony had ever heard from the man’s mouth. “Oh, for fuck’s-” Before he was even finished, the car suddenly sped up, the Captain planting his foot on the gas. With a heavy heart, Tony looked out, and saw the freedom was so close- there was an exit in front of them leading out to the streets, the light looking so warm and welcoming, but there was a large metal ramp slowly coming up in an attempt to stop them in their tracks.

Tony flinched as they came closer, preparing himself for impact- but the car managed to clear it, just barely, the angled ramp throwing it up into the sky. The car was in the air for a horrific moment before slamming back to the ground, and Steve turned as fast as he could, tearing away from Whitehall.

In the mirror, Tony could see soldiers behind them, taking aim, and yelled a warning to Steve who swerved to the left to avoid them- and then they both saw a soldier in an Iron Man suit coming up immediately on Tony’s side, racing to meet them. Steve tried his best to avoid him, but even his good reactions weren’t enough to completely get away.

Even as they sped past him, the soldier, determined to stop them, surged forward and punched one side of the car, only barely catching the boot. The sudden attack and the power of the suit together caused the car to swerve, swinging a little and just mounting the pavement. Steve only growled while Tony yelped, and to his relief, Steve managed to regain control of the car, the vehicle only bouncing a little as it came off the curb immediately after running over it.

He wasn’t getting in a car with Steve driving ever again, and he wanted to tell him that, but even Tony could tell this wasn’t the time.

They didn’t have far to go, not on these empty streets. All they had to do was keep going, escape the main street, and maybe lose them on some winding roads. Then before they knew it Tony would be back in Heathrow where they could safely continue, without the Director even knowing they had busted out. Tony felt like he was back on solid ground, now- they knew where the Omega was and all they had to do now was get off the beach. They didn’t even have to go back to the manor house.

Maybe he could even tell Steve-

No. He stopped that train of thought right there, strangling it in its crib. He wasn’t putting Steve or himself through that again.

Tony shifted in his seat, lifting himself up a little, trying to get more comfortable if he could- at the same time the soldier who had failed to stop them pulled out his gun, aimed and fired, spreading a haze of bullets after them. These ones hit their mark. The back window of the car exploded inwards in a shower of broken glass, and Tony shouted out and flinched as his shoulder suddenly exclaimed with white hot pain. He felt the bullet hit him, but it didn’t come out again, lodged somewhere in his shoulder.

He reached up and gripped it, doubling over and hissing through clenched teeth. He cursed that soldier with everything he had.

“Tony!” Steve called to him, tearing his eyes away from the road, and that’s when everything went to hell, yet again. Tony was starting to see a pattern.

He looked up, in order to tell him to _go, just keep driving,_ and he saw another soldier in another suit standing directly in the middle of a road, just standing there and waiting for them as they came in fast. “Steve, _no!”_

The soldier steadied himself, readying himself for collision, raising his ironclad fists high. Steve barely had time to register Tony’s cry, let alone look out to the road when they were only inches away, and the man brought down his fists, hard, on the front of the car.

The bonnet creased like paper and the car was brought to a difficult stop, the fists stopping the vehicle from striking the soldier too hard and losing his footing. It pushed him across the road as the two back wheels lifted high into the air, forcing him back, but it came to a stop eventually and crashed back to the ground as the soldiers who chased them on foot caught up, never lowering their weapons and shouting orders.

Inside, Tony and Steve were slumped helplessly in their seats.

Everything was suddenly still, for them. The airbags had deployed and greeted them with enthusiasm, and at the shock of impact the two of them were thrown forward, face first. It wasn’t the first time it had happened to Tony, but in the years between, he had forgotten how much it hurt. Tony was then pushed backward, into his seat, and he hit his head again on the seats headrest. His head felt all shaken up, and he knew he would be lucky to escape injury.

There was a faint and incredibly annoying alarm going off in the car, pointlessly warning them about something that had already happened, and Tony could only groan, incapable of anything else. He could hear soldiers yelling around them, coming closer, surrounding the car.

_Steve_ , he thought before even taking in his own injuries, and the thought of Steve being hurt killed him. He tried to angle his head but found he couldn’t, his entire body protesting the movement. Every part of his body hurt, especially his head and shoulder, and he could feel the warmth of blood leaking from the bullet wound, much too slowly. Leaning back against the seat put painful pressure on the hole, but he couldn’t do a damn thing about it, and he knew couldn’t keep his eyes open for much longer, despite his best efforts.

_Die_ , he thought, _die, you have to die._ He willed himself to bleed out faster, praying that his wounds had to be enough, they had to be. He couldn’t be stuck with the soldiers, _he needed to die-_

He was still praying when everything went black, and there were hands prying him from the car.

-

The next thing Tony knew was the cold and the quiet.

He was immediately aware of the fact he hadn’t been able to restart, judging by the difference from this place wherever he was and Heathrow, but he couldn’t find it in himself to be angry about it. His entire body felt loose, lax, the way you felt when you were coming out of a forced sleep.

That should have made him immediately anxious. It didn’t.

Tony let out a soft sigh and twitched his arm, rolling his shoulder to check on his wound. It didn’t hurt, it barely felt like it was even there, but he could feel the thick padding of bandages, stretched tightly around his skin. Something was soft underneath him, comfortingly so, and he could hear a rhythmic beeping, like a heartbeat. For the moment, he had no worries. He could lay back and relax even as the memories all trickled back, slowly, piece by piece to make the grander puzzle.

Then he remembered the crash, and _Steve._

His eyelids felt heavy, but he fought to open his eyes, and when he did he was greeted by a dull, grey ceiling and harsh lights glowing down on him, making him hiss and squint his eyes until they adjusted. Turning his head, valiantly ignoring the way it made him feel like he was floating, he gazed around the room, wondering just where the hell he was, where Steve was, just what the hell was going on and why exactly nothing hurt.

He was greeted with the sight of the IV hanging off its medical stand, a blood bag looming high above him.

Tony felt like he was going to be sick.

He tried to sit up, went to rip it out as if maybe somehow it hadn’t taken effect, he hadn’t lost the only power he had, the only thing that made him useful in Steve’s eyes. He tried, only to realise that he had been strapped down by his arms and his legs, and he could barely shift, let alone sit up. The medication was still plaguing him but he struggled against his bounds, and he could hear the beeping come quicker, matching his heartbeats pace.

He saw someone approach from across the room, hearing shoes slap across tiles, and a woman came into sight. She had her hair tied back neatly and she was dressed in clean scrubs. She reached for his arm, eyeing the heart monitor carefully, and removed the IV for him, detaching him from the blood and the pain medication. He looked at her with mounting horror as she worked. “What have you done?” He asked, his voice rasping, and she stared at him. “You have no idea what you’ve just done.”

She didn’t look at all impressed or apologetic. He supposed she was just doing her job, but he couldn’t help but be inwardly furious at her ignorance. “You’ll be fine.” She spoke with a very clear British accent, and she was looking down at him with pursed lips. “You just needed blood.”

“You have no idea-”

“I’m not allowed to talk to you.” She said, forcefully, and she worked above him in the silence she promised, fiddling with something out of his sight. He watched her go, body refusing to follow his demands, barely straining against the restraints. His hands flexed, uselessly, and all he could think was _I fucked up_ and _oh god, Steve._

“Please,” He murmured, trying to make eye contact with her. She refused it. “Please, I had someone- Steve Rogers. Is he alive?”

The woman had a twist to her lips as she ignored him, like she wanted nothing more than to speak, but she was good at her job to Tony’s chagrin. “Please,” He implored. “Please just tell me that, I need him.”

She stepped back from the bed, stripping her rubber gloves from her hands, and swallowed down whatever it was she wanted to say- whether it was reassurances or condemnation. “I’m sorry.” She said, not sounding sorry at all, and she swept out of sight. He called after her, vice hoarse, but eventually her footsteps disappeared and he could hear a door, swinging shut.

_Fuck,_ was all he could think. The power was gone, it must have been, there was no way he still had it. He didn’t know if Steve was alive- if he was dead, it was irreversible, permanent, _oh god-_ and where the hell would he go from here if he was? He only had one chance to break out, and he had to do it right the first time- if he tried to kill himself to restart that would be it. There would be no Heathrow. There would only be permanent death.

Now, even if Steve still lived he had no use for him, and Tony was just as mortal as the next man. He had no way of bringing back the man he loved.

In a fit of fury, he raged against his bonds, trying to kick out and jostle himself free. Tony struggled as hard as he could, desperate to get free, painfully aware that he must have been out for hours at least and the clock was ticking down before the invasion, the failure that would now be permanent- wholly irreversible. He grunted as he shook, flopping up and down, shaking sideways, barely feeling the restraints budge at all.

He swore, gradually getting louder but more choked as he fought, suddenly feeling so weak, caught up in events he barely understood with no way to defend himself, and then with a particularly violent thrashing, the bed lifted, the left flipping over the right, and with a tumble, the metal edges of the bed clattered to the floor.

He swore loudly, the sound echoing in the hospital room as he was flipped, his nose inch away from the cold tile. Only made angrier in the face of humiliation, he shouted out nonsense, utterly incomprehensible. He squirmed, not giving up the fight- and then he stilled.

He could hear a rattling, like a pill bottle or a canister clicking to the floor and rolling, and then there was a sudden hiss, like the spraying of gas. Almost immediately, he heard a symphony of hacking and coughing, alarmed shouts that descended into the same, and then the shrill sounds of an alarm in the distance. He waited, listening and frowning, his urgency to escape disappearing if just for the moment.

The wailing siren grew louder, just for a few seconds, accompanied by the sound of a squeaking door. When it closed with a bang, the siren was cut off again, and he could hear the heavy thudding of boots across the floor, striding with clear purpose.

Turning his head, Tony could see them, large and made from black leather, shoe laces a little frayed. Assuming it was a soldier, coming to get him out of the hospital, he growled as the soldier got to his knees, ready to give him the verbal smack down of a lifetime.

Then Steve, alive, was lying flat on his belly and peering at Tony with a bright grin and even brighter eyes, looking so relieved to see that he was alright, and in that moment he was the most beautiful thing Tony had ever seen in his life. Even when he knew that when this was all done, he was no doubt going to lose him forever.

“I was out of that thing in three minutes,” He drawled, unaware to Tony’s turmoil. “What’s wrong with you, Tony?”

“Oh, thank god.” He couldn’t help but smile, dropping his head, resting his forehead against the floor. He couldn’t even try for nonchalant- he was pathetically glad Steve wasn’t dead. “I thought you were dead.”

“Please,” Steve rolled his eyes, even playfully reaching out and batting at Tony’s forehead before he disappeared. The friendly contact was pleasant, and then Tony found himself being heaved upwards, the bed being settled back into place. Tony breathed a sigh of relief, _thank god he’s alive,_ and then Steve ducked down and pulled something from his boot, something sharp which shone silver in the overhead light. Tony had flashbacks to the first days on the beach.

Steve lifted the knife high, above his head like he was preparing Tony for a sacrifice, and Tony squirmed, defenceless with his hands still bound. “No _, no!”_

Thankfully, Steve listened, but he didn’t lower the knife. He cocked his head, confused.

“I don’t have it anymore!” He said urgently, before Steve could change his mind. “Look, look, they gave me blood. I lost it, I’m sorry.”

Steve stared at the blood bag, realization dawning but expression darkening, and he still clutched the knife, holding it high. He faltered and his eyes lost their shine, and he swallowed. His arms fell to his side, and Tony could only feel guilt. “I’m sorry.” He said. “I should have made sure I died. But I can help you, I swear, I know I’m kind of useless but-”

Steve had made no movement while he spoke, but then he shook his head fiercely as if to snap himself out of his trance. “No, no, you’re not useless, it’s just…” He trailed off, losing his focus, before looking back at Tony, giving him a vague, watery smile. “It’s nothing, come on.” He leant forward and quickly cut Tony loose instead of undoing the buckles and let Tony have a moment to rub feeling back into his wrists and ankles before sticking the knife back into his boots. “Getting out isn’t going to be fun- but we can make it work.”

-

By the time they made it back to Heathrow, the sky was almost black, and Tony’s mood was darker. It was only hours until dawn, hours until the entire force was set to move out. The base was no longer quiet- there were regular patrols around the perimeter, ones he and Steve struggled to avoid. They kept to the shadows and the edges of the walls, darting out of the way of vehicle headlights, moving in silence, until they found a safe area between two small buildings that Tony assumed were medical offices by the size of them, not far from the hangars, where if they were careful they wouldn’t be spotted.

They pressed themselves tightly against the walls, just in case anyone happened to glance their way, and both men were deep in thought. Steve himself had a troubled look on his face, one Tony wanted to smooth away, but he settled for standing closely by his side instead, a reassuring warmth. “We have to kill the Omega,” He said, lowly. “But we have to do it before the battle tomorrow… well, today now.”

The Captain looked put out, and bone tired. “That’s less than three hours.” He thudded his head against the wall, looking like he was a moment away from putting his fist through it. Instead, he smoothed a hand down his face, sighing. “We need to steal a drop ship to get to France, in that case.”

“And we’re going to need more soldiers.” Tony pointed out. “We’ll never make it alone, with me all… you know.” He rubbed a hand over his mouth, his beard scratching at his palm. He made a muffled noise of frustration. “Who the hell is going to be stupid enough to willingly follow us to France instead of the others?”

There was a long moment of silence, in which gentle rain began to fall, pattering against the tarmac, and Tony shivered against the cold, drawing closer to Steve out of instinct. Steve let him, even turned a little to protect him from the faint wind that picked up. Tony let the moment pass slowly, taking in the moment of peace even as time ran out.

He wanted a break, more than anything. He wanted nothing more than to make time stop, just for an hour or so to let him catch a breather- he was positive he and Steve had more than earned it, the right to just live for a moment without having to fight or rush.

It’d be over soon, he realised, whether he lived to the end of the day or not.

He realized Steve was looking at him now, facing him directly with a hardly comforting expression- one of apprehension and resignation. “I think you know what I’m going to say next, Tony.” He said, very firmly, and when the implication fully hit him- who _would_ follow them? - he groaned.

“Those assholes? Really?”

 


	8. love me again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony and Steve face the end together, with allies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I'm super sorry for this delay. There was a particular few scenes in this chapter that I found very difficult to write, but I managed to get it done. Hopefully, the next chapter - the last- won't take so long. Thanks for sticking with me so far :)
> 
> Warnings, as always, at the end.

“Stark!” Barton roared into the night as he chased Tony down, face and steps like thunder. Romanoff followed closely behind him, her own face set like stone but her movements silent against the downpour. It was raining heavily now, so heavily that most of the patrols were no longer on foot and in cars, where it was much more difficult to see anyone out of bed who shouldn’t be. Tony remained confident he wouldn’t be spotted, unless Barton’s bellowing woke up any of the resting soldiers. Judging by the sheer volume, it was likely. “Where the hell have you been? Coulson had us doing push ups for hours because of you!”

Tony stopped moving and lifted his hands in supplication, showing his palms, but he didn’t back away. He didn’t want to show weakness in front of Barton, and especially in front of Romanoff. They were blood hounds for that sort of thing. “Okay, listen.” He said, his voice low, and he looked between the two of them, making sure they were both listening. “Stay calm. You’re gonna want to hear this, okay?”

Barton didn’t look to eager to listen to story time, but Romanoff looked significantly calmer, cool and collected as always- she reached out and touched his arm, lightly, a wordless way of saying _wait._ Tony was grateful for the opportunity, at least.Clint didn’t look pleased, but he bit back his rage and glowered at him, nostrils flaring. His face was only inches away from Tony’s and his fists were clenched tight, just waiting to hear something he didn’t like and to respond with a punch. Tony had been on the receiving end of it a few times, and he wasn’t in a hurry to relieve the experience. Tony took Barton’s willing quiet as his chance to finally explain his odd behaviour, try to persuade the both of them to listen, and he could only pray it went well- he only had this one chance. “This is gonna sound crazy, yeah, but the longer I talk, the more rational it’s going to seem.”

Barton bared his teeth in a grin before laughing, the fakest expression of amusement Tony had ever heard, and he had watched Obie and Howard work with incompetent assholes. “Oh, yeah?” He said once his little show was done, and even Romanoff looked faintly annoyed, arms crossed against her chest. “Hit me with it, dickhead.”

-

Ten minutes later and Tony was leaning against the alcove wall in the barracks, watching J squad mutter to each other and bicker with thinly veiled amusement.

Barton sat as far away from Tony as was physically possible, as if that would keep him safe, and sat on one of the bunks with his legs crossed and arms wrapped around them, the way a child might have sat. Romanoff and Odinson sat on either of his sides, Odinson a short distance away but Romanoff close enough for their arms to touch. Sylvan stood halfway across the room and watched them with a raised brow, her arms crossed against her chest, and Parker sat on another bed even further away. He had only been half listening at first, fiddling with some piece of broken machinery, but as the conversation continued and grew only more confusion for the others, he began to listen raptly. Now, every soldier looked from Barton to Tony every so often, expression one of absolute bemusement.

“Seriously, I know this sounds like bullshit, but it’s true,” Barton was protesting, looking pale and shaken, which Tony thought was a nice change to the usual arrogance. “He told me the name of the school I went to, and the name of my second grade teacher and the nickname we all called her.”

“She kept him behind once because he punched another kid in the face for taking his book bag. And another time he threw up in front of the girl he liked.” Romanoff said at his side, looking very pleased about this, and Barton’s face went all blotchy and red with embarrassment as everyone snickered. He didn’t tell her to stop- he no doubt didn’t have the balls for that.

“Look, I’m being serious!” He gestured fervently towards Tony as the laughter died down. “He knows everything- _everything!”_

A majority of them looked unconvinced. Even Romanoff, even after what Tony had told her looked unsettled albeit not completely sold, while the others all looked at each other with knowing eyes, as if they were all convinced they were victims of the world’s most ridiculous joke and after they debunked it they could go back to sleep and prepare for tomorrow, the day they thought would be their victory.

Sylvan in particular scoffed, and Barton turned to her. “That’s nonsense,” She said dismissively, shooting Tony a distasteful look. “I don’t know how he knows all that about you, but I’m willing to bet he doesn’t know a thing about me.”

“I have to agree.” Odinson said, nodding. “This entire story is ridiculous.”

Barton only laughed, a touch hysterical. “Yeah? He says your names are Sif and Thor.” At that, the two of them blanched, a mix of white and ashen grey like snow. They looked between each other, startled, but Barton wasn’t done. “He told me you have a brother called Loki. _Loki._ What the fuck was up with your parents, man? You can’t make that shit up. You,” He waved a hand towards Sylvan. “You used to date him, but he turned out to be an asshole. He tried to kill Thor for some ungodly reason that even you two don’t know why, and you broke up with him in jail. Sorry about that, by the way, must have been a terrible time.”

Odinson looked stricken, no doubt torn between defending his brother despite everything he had done and demanding how Tony had found out so much about his life. In turn, Sylvan looked ready to beat Tony bloody. Some of the group looked at them bizarrely- no doubt thinking _Thor, Sif and Loki? –_ while Romanoff looked wholly sympathetic. Knowing her story the way Tony did, the way she held her cards so closely to her chest after the life she had lead, he could understand that.

“No wonder you didn’t tell us.” Parker grinned even as Tony took a swift step away, not wanting to bring down the wrath of two experienced soldiers down on each other. “What kind of names are those?”

Odinson ignored him. “How did you know about that?” He rumbled, like thunder coming down from ancient mountains, and Tony was surprised the floor didn’t shake. He felt multiple pairs of eyes on him, and only shrugged and jerked his head in a way that said _you know how._

“Are you convinced yet?” Barton inquired, and he didn’t get a response, but several of them shuffled awkwardly, not meeting his gaze. Parker nodded, almost eagerly- Tony bet he didn’t want Barton to dig into his past, airing out his dirty laundry. Tony himself knew things about that kid he didn’t want to think about.

“Stark says the enemy knows us too, knows us all, the entire army.” Barton continued, when no one made a peep. He looked around at them all, including every single one of them. “They know we’re coming and they’re going to kill us all tomorrow.”

There was a long moment of quiet, where each of the soldiers looked at each other, like they had just seen their childhood pet hit by a truck- and then Parker groaned, breaking the spell of silence.

“Oh, that’s brilliant.” He said, very weakly, and he lay back in his head with his hands over his head. Tony could see him swallow, as if around a lump in his throat. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Every soldier looked like they agreed, even though they were clearly attempting to remain stoic. Tony could see the uncertainty, as clear as day. He was the one who ripped their confidence out from under their feet, after all.

Romanoff spoke up first, voice loud in the silence. “But we can stop this from happening?” She asked Tony with her dark and intelligent eyes staring into his, and the guilt churned helplessly in his stomach when he saw the hope she tried to cover up, the way she was searching for a helping hand, lost at sea. “If you know all of this, you can guide us- tell us what to do, yeah?”

He kept them waiting for a moment to ramp up the tension a little, to keep them hanging onto his every word. He did it all the time with potential business partners, and it worked like a charm. More often than not they were happily eating out of the palm of his hand by the end of the first hour. Tony pushed himself off the wall, uncrossing his arms. He took a few slow steps forward, theatrically, aware that all the soldiers were watching him with identical expressions of fear and hope. He didn’t want to take it away from them, but he didn’t want to give them false comforts. “There is a way. It’s not a guarantee, but if you want a shot at survival you’re going to have to come with me. You won’t be taking part in the battle tomorrow- you’ll be fighting now.”

A faint ripple went across the group, a tremor of movement. He ignored it, continuing. “We’ll have to leave as soon as the base starts preparing- if we leave right this second, we’ll be caught and stopped.” It wouldn’t have been such a problem if Tony still had the power- for what felt like the thousandth time since the crash, he cursed himself. It would have been so much easier, just trial and error until they could escape.

He was jerked out of his thoughts by Romanoff making a disbelieving noise, curling her lip up at him. “Please. We just met you. I know you apparently know a tonne of shit about us, but I don’t know you at all. Why the hell would I get up and go anywhere with you?”

Distantly, Tony heard the flap of the tent open. He remained collected, sure of who it was. He could hear their sneaking footfalls outside, down the long stretch of the corridor, gradually coming closer. _Right on time._ Unruffled, Tony smiled at her. “I understand that. I completely understand.” The footsteps were closer now, and the group were beginning to notice, expressions turning unfriendly and cautious again. “I don’t expect you to follow me, though. I expect you to follow him.”

He stepped back, letting the newcomer take centre stage, and Steve stepped up, standing tall and proud in the room. He looked almost every inch the brave Captain willing to do what was necessary to save the world, ignoring the tension that ebbed off of him, the fear that something would go wrong and they couldn’t reverse it. He tried to keep it from plaguing his expression, but Tony knew him to well, and he knew a cover up when he saw one.

J squad didn’t seem to notice. Everyone who wasn’t already standing rose quickly, jolting up to respect their superior, their eyes so wide Tony thought they might roll out of their heads. Even Barton was silenced for once. Tony felt a little jealous.

“That’s the Hero of Verdun.” Sylvan said, looking like she had just been slapped, and Odinson was slack jawed beside her.

“Squad,” He said, gesturing with both hands to Steve who, to his credit, only looked partially uncomfortable. “This is Captain Steve Rogers.” He didn’t need the introduction, but Steve need humanizing- if he was going to be followed, he need to seem like an everyday person who happened to be really good at killing the Chitauri. Tony just hoped Steve could play along.

“Hi.” Steve managed after a brief, somewhat uncomfortable pause, his voice only a little strangled.

It appeared almost as if Tony wasn’t there anymore- each soldier was staring at Steve, looking moments away from pinching themselves to check that they weren’t dreaming. All of them looked equally as stunned as the other, but they all looked almost delighted, brimming with respect for their Captain. They looked at him the same way they looked at Coulson. Romanoff was even grinning a little, the corners of her lips just curving upwards, and Barton was nodding, looking impressed by her side.

Tony beamed. It seemed they had their team.

“Alright then.” Steve said, looking noticeably less tense, and Tony resisted the urge to cheer.

-

“Coulson’s gonna kill us.” Barton said from his seat at the front of the ship, mournfully, and there was a distant chorus of agreement from the whole squad.

With the creeping arrival of dawn and the preparation for the invasion beginning, their stolen drop ship in the sky wasn’t an odd sight amongst all the others. Steve had managed to wrestle them a ship- Tony’s only job was to make sure Coulson didn’t come hunting for his missing squad, and the squad themselves had to keep out of his sight. It was easier than he anticipated, although they were given some odd looks- the deserter hanging out with the Captain and Coulson’s team.

Despite that, they had left Heathrow behind without much difficulty, almost suspiciously easily, and Tony was glad- being shot out of the sky would have put quite a damper on things. Now, they flew over France, the sun appearing very slowly and casting a faint light over the land. They were close to Paris, and true to Tony’s vision, it looked a mess.

There was water everywhere, suffocating the world underneath. He could see no movement, no rippling of water or the quick movements of the drones, and Tony wasn’t sure if he should be glad or suspicious. He supposed it was better to remain alert- he couldn’t be too careful.

Tony sighed, taking a step back from the window, and tried not to think about how close they were to the end.

Everyone was as prepared as they could be. Each soldier stood at the ready in their own Iron Man suit, and everyone was strapped up to the launch row with the exception of Tony and Barton. Barton had offered to pilot, unashamedly calling himself the best out of all of them, and the others had made no argument. Tony had walked between each of them, checking over every last little thing to make the landing as optimal as possible. Sylvan, Odinson and Romanoff had been checked over, but Parker and Steve still waited. Steve waited at the far end of the row, standing in a terse silence.

Parker himself was in deep contemplation, looking fascinated, like he was trying to figure out a complex puzzle. Tony stood opposite him, not yet hooked up and looking amused. Steve could see the small smile lines around his mouth and the crow’s feet around his eyes, and oddly enough, it made him look younger. It took away from the weight of invisible responsibility on his shoulders.

“So there’s an Omega and an Alpha,” The young soldier mused aloud for probably the fifth time, and the rest of J squad groaned, agonized. They went ignored. “And we’ve been fighting the drones?”

Tony hummed in confirmation. “Yup. It’s crazy, but actually kinda interesting. According to an expert friend of ours, they’re-”

“Drop it,” Romanoff interrupted, scathingly. Steve knew from personal experience that she was interrupting the beginning of a long description before it had the chance to flow, unstoppable. He had been in that situation before. He wondered in how many loops he had experienced the same thing, but then decided he really didn’t want to think about it. “You’re just distracting yourselves from the mission.”

“Nothing wrong with that.” Tony said, cheerfully, but didn’t continue. Romanoff looked relieved. Leaving Parker to wonder in silence, he made his way up the line checking over every soldier until he reached Steve. He smiled at him in greeting. “You doing okay?”

“Fine.” Steve said, flatly, and even before he spoke Tony knew he was going to be lying. Through Tony’s eyes he looked frazzled, unbelievably stressed, and Tony could feel the tension. He could understand why Steve elected to remain so far from the squad- he didn’t want to infect them with his nerves. Tony watched him fiddle with his weapons, checking for the baton at his hip and the state of his guns, in a little ritual he repeated now and again, as if trying to reassure himself.

He just watched him for a while, taking in the way he steeled himself, watching the experienced soldier suppress the fear of the civilian. It was impressive. Without Steve’s guidance, Tony knew he would have turned tail and fled until he ran out of Earth to cower in. He stood in silence as Steve worked, feeling the rumble of the ship underneath his feet, the sound of machinery around him. Steve refused to meet his eyes, and the moments went by in almost silence.

“So this Omega is guarded by an Alpha.” Parker said to himself again from across the ship, quietly, still puzzling it out and Odinson exhaled heavily through his nose. He looked intensely frustrated.

“Just kill the damn thing. Drop a bomb on it, or whatever.”

“No,” Sylvan said from across the way, forcefully. She used her position, facing him dead on, to look him straight in the eyes. Tony wondered if Sylvan was the only person Odinson listened to, aside from Coulson. “You remember what Stark told us- if we kill the Alpha, its game over. It’ll restart the day, and know we’re coming. We’ll be shot out of the sky.”

“So what exactly do we do if the Alpha is going to bite my head off?” Odinson asked, golden brow arching. He was taking a leaf out of Barton’s book, and strapping an explosive to his chest. Tony could respect that, and he turned to look at him and spoke up before Sylvan could continue.

“Take one for the team.” He said, deadly serious, eyes lingering on the device, and turned back to Steve before he could see their reactions. “Look,” He said, lowering his voice a little. “I need to talk to you.”

Steve looked nonplussed. “About what?”

“When we’re on the ground, there’s not going to be a lot of time before we know we’re here. We’re going to need a pair of eyes and hands up here, and Barton can’t fly and fight at the same time.”

Steve’s eyes narrowed, very dangerously, and there was another reason Steve was Captain- he put the fear of god into every single soldier with that expression. “I’m going down, Tony.” He said bluntly. “And you can’t stop me.”

His tone allowed no room for argument. The protests were bubbling up in the back of Tony’s throat, but the blue eyes were hard and the soldier was unmoveable. Tony wondered if he was ever going to win a fight with him, but backed down, shoulders slumping. He resisted the powerful urge to slink away and lick his wounds.

“Thirty seconds until contact,” Barton called back to them, and that pulled even Parker out of his thoughts. The soldiers all steadied themselves, checking their ammo one last time, pulling down faceplates and consulting JARVIS and their HUDs. They all worked in silence, gearing themselves up and preparing for the drop.

Tony parted from Steve, clapping him on his shoulder and giving him a look he hoped would be reassuring. They would immediately meet up again on the ground and work together to get to the Omega- that was, if nothing went wrong.

Tony stepped up the path, aware of every soldier’s eyes on him and headed towards the gaps in the row saved for him and Barton, and only feet ahead of him the ship was struck with extreme force, and he was thrown off his feet, flying back as the ground rocked.

“Fuck!” He heard Romanoff burst out, jolting forward but being only just restrained by the suit. Soldiers were panicking and calling out his name, Steve’s rising over the rest, and Barton was shouting warnings from the cockpit over the shrill alarm that sounded. Tony had hit the grate hard, and barely managed to struggle back to his feet. He clung to the metal bar at the top of the row, trying not to get knocked straight back down again. It was difficult with the grate shifting underneath his feet, something in the metal loosening. In the strike some of the lights had been destroyed, and he could see dancing sparks from the gaping hole in the side of the ship. The world he could see below passed by too slowly for his liking- they had to get out, as quickly as possible. “Stark, are you alright?”

It was almost impossible to hear over the sudden din and the howling wind, and Tony had to scream as loud as he could to be heard over the explosions. It was clearly safe to say the Chitauri had seen them coming- a ship this large was hardly stealthy, but it was the smallest they could take which could fit the group and wouldn’t arouse too much suspicion. “Drop!” He shouted, and all the soldiers made similar noises of outrage. “Just go! Drop!”

With explosions all around them, they knew that they had to listen as much as they wanted to disobey. If they stayed any longer, either another explosion or the crash would probably kill them. They slowly dropped one by one, each of them looking hesitant and yet determined, but Steve didn’t budge. Tony staggered closer, clutching to whatever he could and trying not to plummet through the holes. “What are you doing?!”

“You’re not hooked up!” Steve protested, remaining even as the ship shook and lost height around them, heading straight for the ground. “You have to get-”

“There’s no time!” Tony shouted back, wind ripping his words away as soon as they escaped his mouth. He fumbled to check and fix the last parts of Steve’s suit, making sure his departure and landing would be as safe as possible before reaching for the drop button. Before he could touch it, Steve’s hand clad in his gauntlets came up and grasped for his wrist, holding it loosely. Steve looked at him, imploringly, _Tony don’t,_ but Tony should his head without an apology and hit the button. Steve was released and he dropped from sight in a second, hand losing its grip on Tony’s.

He backed up, immediately, staggering as the ship was rocked with another explosion. Every soldier lined up was gone, dropped into the madness below, and only he and Barton remained. He could see him, standing in the cockpit, frantically and futilely trying to keep the ship from crashing. It was commendable, but ultimately useless.

He wouldn’t be able to hear Tony from this distance, but he had to try. “Barton!” He bellowed, moving as fast as he could down the path, the wind pummelling him and trying to push him back. It was stinging his eyes- he dropped down his faceplate, and fought against the force. “Barton!”

The man didn’t move, continuing to press bright buttons and desperately try to guide the ship down, and Tony cursed. He held on to both bars at either side, stepping forward as quickly and steadily as possible, and screamed, “Barton!”

Another explosion rocked the ship, knocking it to the right, and the ground from underneath Tony’s feet was torn away before he could even register exactly what the hell was happening. His grip on the left bar was knocked loose and he cried out in fear as he hung uselessly in mid-air for only a few seconds before the ship rumbled, engine spluttering, and the force of the ship slamming into the water threw him down, plunging to the floor. The last thing he saw was Barton jerking away from his seat before the ship was consumed by flame.

He hit the water hard and sunk like a stone as the ship crashed overhead, dangerously close to where Tony fell. Any closer, and he would have been dead for sure. He could see the fire blaze over the water and the twisted metal, and once the world above him stilled, he kicked up, fighting to remerge. He was grateful for past Tony’s hard work- the water was kept out of the suit and he had no fear of drowning.

However, no matter how hard he fought, he couldn’t swim- the suit was far too heavy for that. He struggled against the water, limbs kicking and flailing. Still the glow of light from the fire grew further and further away, and he swore, struggling as hard as he could. It was useless. He only had once choice now.

Cursing every deity that bothered to listen, he reached for his gauntlets first, quickly undoing them and taking the first off. The coldness that met his skin made him wince, and he wasn’t looking forward to taking of the helmet. He quickly shed his armour piece by piece, more and more of his skin bared to the chill and he moved as fast as he could. Eventually, he found himself in only his uniform, and grabbing his baton and detaching the gun, he took a deep lungful of air before removing his helmet, squeezing his eyes shut, and kicking up the surface. It didn’t matter if he closed them- the depths were so dark he couldn’t see his hand in front of his face. Embraced by the cold, his lungs were beginning to burn only seconds before he burst out to the surface, the cool air stinging against his freezing and wet cheeks. He gasped for breath, desperate to fill his lungs again, and the air was cold and thin inside, a sweet sharpness in his lungs and mouth. He coughed a little and blinking away water he surveyed his surroundings, looking for land.

He swam over in a breaststroke as soon as he spotted it, ignoring the flaming wreckage of the ship and hating every loud splash he made. Eventually his hands found stone and he clawed at it, pulling himself up and over and rolling to the floor, out of breath and already tired. He had been out of the ship for only a few minutes and it was already a terrible start to the end. Tony regretted leaving his armour littered under the water- but there was nothing he could do. He took a moment to regulate his breathing, shivering, and then got to his feet, splashing in puddles. The world was uncomfortably dark, and he couldn’t see any movement- not droids or soldiers. He wondered if Clint survived the crash, and where exactly Steve was- and if he was alive.

With his weapons in both hands and a tremble to his legs, Tony moved forward through what looked exactly like a post-apocalyptic disaster zone from every movie he had ever watched. He could see cars left abandoned, some completely swallowed by the water. There was fire spread all around and crumbling buildings, fallen pillars and old remains he could no longer recognise. There were multiple downed ships that had fallen apart, consumed and aged, and he had absolutely no idea where the Louvre even was.

He waded through the water, wincing at every noise he made and moved as quietly as possible across the way, holding his weapon high in preparation. The water went up to his thighs, and was as cold as ice. The only thing he had on his side was a lack of drones- he didn’t see a single one as he made his way forward. He wondered if that should worry him.

Tony glanced at the still form of the ship they had flown in on, smoking and burning under the night sky. It was only another casualty in the graveyard Paris had become. The front of the ship were Clint had been was smashed to hell, the nose squished like it was made of tin foil rather than metal, and Tony’s heart hurt. He could see the fire glowing through the shattered glass, and he could see no moving shadow inside. _Should I check if he’s still alive? He might have survived._

Tony didn’t hold his breath. He moved on without another glance. If Clint was alive, he was a resourceful man- he could get out on his own. If not- well. The world spun on.

Above, there were hundreds and hundreds of stars in the night sky shining down on him, each of them beautiful, but he had no time to appreciate the sights. He kept his eyes down on Earth, looking for any suspicious movement and listening for any sign of anyone, or anything. He knew he shouldn’t hold out much hope, the land was suspiciously silent, but he couldn’t fathom the thought of being the only one left mere minutes into the landing.

He kept to the shadows as best he could, only wandering into the firelight when strictly necessary. He stuck towards the twisted remains of old ships and cars, and hoped he wouldn’t get any nasty surprises from inside the silver metal. It would have been the poisonous cherry on top of the cake laced with arsenic. He didn’t know how long he walked for, but the dread was beginning to settle in his chest- the thought that maybe, he was the only one left.

Later he made his way across a brief opening between two great metal structures quickly, hating the racket he made- and then the hairs on the back of his neck rose and he tensed as he heard the sudden splashing of water from behind him. Suddenly uncaring about the dangers that could be ahead, worrying far more about those behind, he span and aimed- and promptly relaxed.

“Jesus, Rogers.” He hissed between his teeth even as the knot of tension he felt loosened in the presence of his friend. He looked him up and down, finding him seemingly unharmed, but he was breathing laboriously like he had been fighting or running. Tony had barely heard him approach, so he assumed the former. “You could have ended up with a bullet in your head- or me with a bullet in mine.”

“Your _suit_.” Steve sounded horrified, and Tony shrugged, pulling a face.

“It’s a long story. Let’s not get into it.”

“How the hell are you still alive?” Steve sounded impressed, incredulous through his panting breaths. Tony wondered how exactly the man had snuck up on him so suddenly, so quietly- he supposed he should have been grateful that it was an ally who got the jump on him, rather than a foe.

“Magic.” Tony said, teasingly- he didn’t think _I have no idea_ would have gone down too well. Steve managed a small smile, looking just as pleased that Tony lived. He looked beyond Steve, a tad expectantly, and when he saw and heard nothing he met his eyes again. They were startlingly blue in the darkness. “Don’t tell me you’re the only survivor.”

Steve shook his head to Tony’s eternal relief, and gestured to him, a hand movement that he read as _Ssh. Follow me._

Steve guided him through the warren, leading him for the labyrinth, and Tony couldn’t help but feel safer. Steve could defend him, and Tony could protect Steve- he felt much better knowing there was someone watching his back, and he wasn’t ending the war alone. He could think of nothing worse.

The water rippled between them, sloshing and splashing no matter how quietly they tried to move and Tony wasn’t surprised when Romanoff darted out of a dark shadowy corner, gun raised high, alerted to their presence. Steve lifted up his hands silently, Tony following his lead, and Natasha kept her weapon trained on them for a few more seconds before lowering it. Her face was blank, a porcelain mask, but her eyes looked like steel.

“Captain.” She said evenly, but even Tony could hear the distaste. She looked past him, at Tony, and he could feel the scrutiny.

“Any updates?” Steve asked, all authority, and she shook her head. She slipped back into the darkness and Steve gestured for Tony to follow. They had to squeeze between two tall columns built closely together and it was a tight fit with the armour, but eventually Tony came out to a clearing. Natasha wasn’t the only survivor, but she was the one in best shape. The survivors had made a makeshift camp spot in a fairly dry area, the tall form of a ship acting as cover. Unlike the others, it looked fairly well put together- it wasn’t on fire or missing chunks of its frame. Both Parker and Odinson were slumped ungracefully on the floor. Odinson had seemingly taken the worst hits- his face was covered in scratches and gouges, blood trickling down from a wound in his temple, and he was clutching his stomach as if in pain. Beside him, Parker looked frightened but much better off, his only wounds seemingly on one of his legs which he held carefully.

They both looked incredibly relieved to see them, and Steve immediately crossed to check on them, while Tony stood back with Romanoff. He watched as Steve checked over Parker’s leg, reassuring him with a small smile and a clap on the back- and then he watched with a sinking feeling when he saw Steve’s body tense as he looked at Odinson. Romanoff breathed lightly at his side as Odinson smiled tightly and said something Tony couldn’t quite catch, something likely depreciative, and Steve murmured back to him, lowly. They talked quietly for a moment, before Steve rose, touching his shoulder.

He made his slow way back to them, and Tony could see how bothered he was, even when he tried to hide it. It was obvious in his tense shoulders, the furrow of his brows.

Romanoff stood with her arms crossed tightly across her chest, and her face was very pale even in the slow sunrise. There was blood smeared on the forearms of her armour. Her expression was drawn tight, and she stared at Tony, eyes hard. “You’re a fucking liar.”

Steve made a noise of protest, but Tony held up a hand. _Let her vent._ “How so?”

She didn’t hold back, and didn’t bother to lower her voice. “We’re running low on ammo. I’ve got one Claymore left, Thor is out of the game and Parker only has half a magazine left and he can barely fucking move- just look at him.” Her nostrils flared, and her jaw worked through its tension. “You’re a liar. You said you could see the future.”

Tony shook his head. “I said no such thing. I haven’t lived this day, I don’t know a damn thing about this.”

Romanoff let out a heavy exhale, and looked just about ready to tear his head from his shoulders, but Steve cut across. “We can’t sit here and mope.” He said, loudly enough for his voice to carry to the others but quiet enough to hopefully not attract attention. “We have to get to the Omega and finish this- for good.”

“You’re fucking with us,” Romanoff protested. “We’ve already lost Sylvan, and _Clint_.” If the others noticed how her voice wavered, just a touch, they were kind enough to ignore it. “Thor and Peter probably can’t even walk- we can’t push forward.”

“We have to.” Tony said, a hard edge to his tone. “We don’t have a choice.”

“There’s going to be god knows how many drones in-between us and the Omega.” Odinson pointed out, his voice a low rumble. He was shifting, trying to stand, but his body was protesting. He spoke through a wince. “Do we have a plan?”

At his side, Parker made a frustrated noise in the back of his throat. He got up with more success, although Tony saw how his leg wobbled, and he had to hold on the ship behind him to balance himself. He left a bloody handprint from where he clutched his leg. “If we stay here, we’re all going to die.” He said, and _wow, this kid doesn’t mess around._

“And how exactly are we going to get there?” Romanoff demanded, and she glowered at the two of them. “We’re not exactly in the best shape, and we’ve got no ship.”

She had a point, and her practicality took the wind out of Tony’s sails- but then there was the sound of a throat being cleared, and everyone turned to look at Parker. He was grinning weakly, and he slapped the side of the ship behind him. Tony winced at the loud noise it made. “We do have a ship.”

Steve arched a brow. “That’s not flight worthy.”

“It doesn’t need to,” Parker told him. “It just needs to cross a long distance quickly. As long as the engines still work, we could steer it with the power levers, right?” He looked to Tony uncertainly, as if for validation.

He had a point, and it was the only decent plan Tony could think of. He looked to the others for their thoughts. Steve looked a touch reluctant, but Romanoff’s eyes lightened, and she too looked a little impressed. “That’s better.” She turned her head, surveying the surroundings before looking to Steve. “Captain. Help me clear a path.”

Steve went along with her without questioning it, although he still didn’t look entirely comfortable. Soon, the air was filled with unfortunately loud screeching as they used the power of the suits to push away anything that would halt the ships path. Cars were shoved aside like they were mere paperweights.

“Mr Stark.” Parker called out to him, and he limped forward, every movement slow. “Can I get your help with the engines?”

Tony flashed him a grin. It was attempted reassurance that thankfully didn’t fall flat. “Of course. And please, call me Tony.”

Parker looked a little stunned at that. His eyes were wide, and his cheeks flushed just a little. “Alright, Tony.” The word fell from his tongue strangely, like he could barely speak it. “Thor- wait up here, I’m going to try and get the ship moving.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” Thor said with fake cheer, and Parker had to rip one of the doors free from the ship to get inside but soon Tony found himself on one of the plush chairs, wincing at the dampness and the mould. The ship was cold and likely long abandoned, but with a little luck and their brains working together, they could get the engines working.

Romanoff found them minutes later, impatience written all over her face, and Parker was murmuring to himself. “Okay, try again.”

Tony huffed out an aggravated sigh and tried to bring the engine to life for what felt like the hundredth time. The board was lighting up in blue, responding to their touches, but the engine stayed silent. “Nope.”

Parker didn’t swear like Tony would have, instead staying cool and collected. Tony could admire that. He simply frowned, and continued working, trying to find a way around the problems. Under such pressure- their potential impending doom- Tony would have put his fist through something by now. “Condition lever low. Electrical power on.”

 “If you could hurry it up, that’d be great.” Romanoff said dryly, before disappearing back down the ship. Tony had to lean forward in his seat to see her, and he watched as she opened one of the side doors. It took some work but she wrenched the metal free, and Tony could see her reaching up to the ceiling, toying with something above. Parker distracted him for a moment, nudging him, and they found no success trying to bring the old machine back to life. He turned back to Natasha- and started as he saw guns leading from the ceiling, cleverly disguised. Natasha was setting them up to be part of her armour, testing how rigid they were. They went along with her every movement, and her smile was one of satisfaction.

“What the hell is that?”

“It’s a gun extension,” She explained, not bothering to look over at him. “I can help stop the drones from here while we move, if necessary. I’m just glad this seems to be fully functional.”

“Probably the first break we’re getting all day,” Tony murmured darkly, and she laughed.

“It’s early yet,” She said, looking out into the sunrise.

Steve entered the ship while they worked, having finished his task. The path between them and the Louvre was clear, but he still didn’t look at ease. “Thor’s not in the best shape.” He said, honestly.

“We’ll sort that out when we get the ship running,” Romanoff replied, and while Steve accepted that, Tony felt a sinking feeling in his stomach. If they could get the engine up, it would be loud, and he could remember only too well what happened last time an engine was switched on in mimic territory. They would be lucky if the sounds of Steve and Romanoff pushing the cars hadn’t brought them down upon them already. He opened his mouth to protest, but he heard Parker hiss out a victory at his side, quickly pressing the buttons on Tony’s side, and the engine was revived with a shuddering rumble that went throughout the ship. In the quiet, they could hear the form rattle and the aircrafts rotors beginning to spin. Steve was right- the ship didn’t lift of the ground, but they would be able to push it forward.

“Go and get Thor,” Romanoff said to Parker, urgently, and when he scurried past as quickly as he could with his leg she turned to the Captain. “You should help Stark. I’ll control the guns.”

Steve nodded, his face serious, and he took Parker’s seat. Romanoff darted away too properly and firmly attach herself, preparing for what was to come. He gave Tony a sideways glance. “Are you ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.” Tony looked out of the front window. He eyed the distance, the lightening skyline, and he hoped the slight flicker of movement he could see was simply his imagination.

He should be so lucky.

Precious moments passed, the time slipping by. He could hear Peter and Thor talking distantly outside, voices incomprehensible over the engine, and Steve grunted with impatience. “What’s keeping them?”

Tony shifted in his seat, growing antsier by the second. He didn’t like just sitting there- they were sitting ducks, incredibly noisy ducks at that, and if they lingered any longer they would be dead. Romanoff was tense behind them but remained silent, and Tony didn’t like the creeping, crawling sensation that was tingling up his spine. The voice grew louder, and the flickering only intensified at the furthest reaches of Tony’s eyes.

 _Fuck it,_ he thought. He jumped out of his seat and Steve looked at him, questioningly. He clapped Steve’s shoulder, and offered him a smile he hoped wasn’t as brittle as it felt. “Get ready to move at short notice.”

“Tony,” Steve protested, and he swept out of the pilot’s area, breezing past Romanoff without as much as a word. The doors of the ship were still wide open, and he could hear the rotors even closer now, and the breeze made him shiver in the early morning cold. He wished he still had his suit.

“You have to go!” He could hear Thor arguing, his voice firm. “I can’t move a damn muscle, you have to-“

“I’m not going!” Parker insisted, his voice several pitches higher. “I’m not leaving you-“

“Guys!” Tony leapt out of the ship without a second thought, feet splashing in the water. He ignored Romanoff’s shouts for him to get back inside. “The powers on, come on!” He could see unmistakeable movements now, growing uncomfortably close. They were flickers of orange, like glowing candles in the distance, but they were nothing so serene. “We have to go!”

Odinson was low on the ground, and for the first time Tony could see the true extent of his injuries. His lightly tanned skin was hidden under the red of blood, and it spread in the water like paint. His legs were shredded around the thighs and there were gouges in his lower stomach- Tony marvelled how he hadn’t been killed. He was baring his teeth, unapologetic and angry. “I’m going to be useless,” He said, and Tony couldn’t deny that. “Let me buy you some time.”

“I’m not leaving.” Parker said, stubbornly, and Tony had no time to bicker, plead or bargain. He tried anyway.

“We can’t leave you here.” He said, desperately, hyperaware of the time trickling by. He could hear them now, their distant battle cries. Parker looked distinctly nervous, looking between Odinson and the drones.

“Stark,” Romanoff called from on the ship. She could only watch, with no time to intervene. “We have to go, now.”

Tony looked between her and them, hopelessly, and he could only think about what Steve would say. He had spent so much time with him, and not even he knew how the man would respond. Tony wondered if he would be Steve Rogers the man or Steve Rogers the Captain- would he never leave men behind or would he be able to make a necessary sacrifice.

 _This is my price to pay,_ Tony remembered, and he thought he might know what Steve would do. There was no confidence in his heart, but he still had to make the choice.

It seemed that Parker could see the resolution in his eyes. He could muster enough confidence to huff out a tiny laugh. “Go on, Tony. Go do your thing, if it’s so important.”

Tony hesitated as if to argue further, but the drones were so close now, and Odinson grit out, “Go, _now.”_

Tony paused for a few beats, even while knowing they could cost him dearly. Then, he bowed his head, ignoring the way his eyes were beginning to sting. “Thank you.” He said, his voice raw, and then he spun, running back for the ship.

“We have to go!” Romanoff shouted over the din, and Tony only just had enough time to bound back onto the ship with regret weighing down his chest before it was moving, powering ahead. The water parted underneath it, and it picked up a surprising amount of speed for such an old ship.

Tony didn’t look back. As he passed Romanoff opened fire, giving what aid to her fellow soldiers she could. The sound was deafening, and he covered his ears and picked up the pace, joining Steve again as quickly as he could. He didn’t look at him.

Back on the ground, bullets were still flying, a small number of the drones dead in the water. Thor roared threats and promises of retribution while Parker said nothing at all, trying to make every bullet count. To their mixed emotions, a majority of the drones were successfully distracted from the ship, instead attracted to the deliberate distraction.

The ammo ran dry quicker than they anticipated. Silence fell abruptly when the bullets were gone and the cries of the drones were suddenly loud in their ears, and they winced. Parker hesitated before dropping his useless weapons to the floor, splashing himself, and he shared a look with his fellow soldier. They were faced with impossible odds, certain death- and all they could do now was choose how spitefully they would end it.

Odinson looked to him and he grinned, ever courageous in the face of death, and he rapped his knuckles against his chest purposefully. With all his intelligence, Parker didn’t understand at first- but then the sound registered, bone against metal, and he remembered the explosives.

“Do it.” He said before he could change his mind, and he was glad that his voice didn’t quiver.

Odinson groped underneath the bomb quickly, as the drones grew closer. There was a method of detonation underneath it, and after a moment’s fumbling, he found it.

The resulting explosion rocked the earth behind the ship, but the ship was too far away to be caught in its blast. Steve and Tony shared one glance, expressions taut, grieving together for the only second they were allowed. The sounds of gunfire from Natasha continued, reminding them of exactly where they were. The drones would be coming from them now, and while Steve did his best to guide the ship where they needed it Tony snatched up his gun and stood, clutching his seat and taking aim at any creature that dared try enter the ship from the back.

The ride was bumpy and terrifying, and Tony found himself praying he didn’t fall- if he did, he would be lost. He focused on staying calm and aimed as best as he could, bringing down a small group of the faster drones that clung to the back of their ship.

“Incoming!” Romanoff warned, and her side of the ship went up in sparks. Fear made Tony’s chest cold- but she struck down her attackers with a furious scream. He wondered how much longer the ammo stock would last for- he hoped they’d be able to make it. He turned his head for a split second, staring out the window and saw the Louvre glowing just in the distance, growing closer with each second.

He wondered for a moment how they were going to get from the ship inside the museum without getting killed- but then Steve reached out and punched his arm, snarling “Shoot the damn drones!”

Reminded, he went back to his duty, holding on for dear life. Once or twice, he was almost jerked loose, and Tony felt bad for Romanoff, half hanging out of the ship. She was being sprayed with water and was face to face with the foe.

Steve called out a warning- “Drones ahead!”- and Tony relayed it to Romanoff, hoping she heard either of them across the engines, bullets and water. It was an awful din, and Tony could barely hear himself think. Romanoff made no indication that she had heard, and Tony opened his mouth to shout over to her again.

He was too slow. The ship was moving too fast, and it whipped past the drones. They lunged out, clawing as it went by, and they caught her by her arms, ripping her free. They pulled her down, and Romanoff fell almost anti-climatically, without a single sound above the tearing of her suit. She was gone in a second. Tony screamed for her, startling Steve, but there wasn’t any point.

Ever pragmatic, Tony then turned to Steve. “I have to take over!” He shouted across, and when Steve tried to protest Tony was already slipping away.

He didn’t bother attaching himself to the guns, and he couldn’t do it properly without his suit. He guided the guns with his arms as best as he could and hoped to hell he wouldn’t suffer Romanoff’s fate. He shot at anything that moved, hoping, praying that they’d get to the Louvre soon. Little specks of orange hounded him, bounding after him, and there were too many to pick off on his own. He could hear them scratching at the walls, clambering on the roof. There was a terror in his heart unlike any other he had felt before.

He thought about the crane like extension that hung outside of the ship and wondered, for a surreal moment, if he should venture out and try to aim for the ones on the roof. He would have to hold on tightly, not protected by the attachments of a suit. Common sense screamed no, it would only get him killed, but if the drones on the roof got through it would be the exact same result. He had to make a choice, and quickly.

Scratching and screeching coming from the roof made it for him, and as the first drone emerged with a shriek Tony screamed in return, half challenge and half fear as he leapt out of the ship, desperately balancing his feet on the extension and holding on for dear life. The water slammed against him, almost catching him off guard in the very first second, but he forced the guns to turn and shot mindlessly, desperately trying to bring them down before they could kill him or Steve. The wind tossed him about like he was being dragged into a hurricane.

There were drones much too close for comfort, dozens of them on the ship’s heels. He could see a few all on the roof, eyes locked on him, and it struck him how few defences he had. He had done many idiotic things in his life, and this took the cake.

Tony could hear Steve calling for him, sounding confused and indignant and furious all at once, but he couldn’t yell back. He would have just received a mouthful of water and wind for his troubles. He only hoped Steve wouldn’t come and do something equally as stupid.

He struggled for what felt like minutes, but he was sure it was only a handful of seconds. He nearly died several times, thrown off his perch or at a drone’s claws, and he was getting tired. All of his muscles hurt, and he didn’t think he could keep standing for much longer. The plan, while sounding good at the time, was running on empty. He had no idea what was going to happen next.

It turned out the answer to that was crash.

He could hear Steve howling his name, and for one dreadful moment, he thought he had let a drone slip by his defences- but then, he turned his head, and he saw it through the mist of water. The Louvre was close, but first there were columns, two of them built closely together and right in the middle of their path. The ship would make a hard collision, and then the Louvre would be upon them.

“Shit!” Tony yelled, mostly out of habit, and before he could struggle back into the ship, it slammed into the columns hard enough for his teeth to rattle in his skull. The ship ploughed the once beautiful architecture over, making it crumble over the ship and litter Tony with dust. He was glad he probably wouldn’t survive to get the bill, but he had more serious things to consider.

The force of the hit threw him and around and ripped him loose, and he barely could manage a scream of pure fear as he grabbed desperately for some kind of hold, something to keep him from falling- but empty air greeted his fingers, and he plunged downwards. He was thrown forward, towards the Louvre, and the glass fell down around him, showering the floor below. He could only think utterly horrified about how large the bill for property damage he wouldn’t be slapped with, but it still hurt to consider it- it would be worse than that weekend in Chicago that made Pep go interesting colours whenever he brought it up.

His body spun wildly out of control as he smashed through and his natural instinct was an attempt to land on his feet. It failed miserably, and his back hit the fallen piece of concrete, hard, and it knocked the wind out of him.  That wasn’t the end of it. He swore as he rolled, tumbling down the ground for what seemed like forever, and when he finally came to a stop he lay there a moment, groaning softly.

He didn’t want to move, and for a long moment, he didn’t.

He felt sick, dizzy, the fall throwing him off and making his vision blurry. His head felt light, and he wondered if he had hit his head against the rock without realising. He lifted a hand, running it through his hair and feeling for a wound. His hand came back unstained by blood, but he couldn’t feel relief. Groaning, Tony rolled onto his side, curling up in a little ball. Every muscle was sore, protesting every movement he made.

He could hear the water rushing around him, and more importantly he could hear the drones- but frankly, he was in too much pain to care.

He lay there, panting, desperately trying to catch his breath. From his position, he could see across the room, and it looked exactly like it did in his vision. The room was trashed, even more so thanks to their unexpected collision, and there was water and glass everywhere. The concrete was cracked and cold, and he could see no movement.

Just beyond his arms reach, he could see his gun. It had clattered down nearby. He knew he needed it. Sucking in a breath, he reached out, fingers barely brushing it, and he shifted and leaned forward, ignoring the pained protests of his body to bring the weapon closer. He caught it and pulled it close. It didn’t make him feel any better.

He could hear cracking from above, the kind of sound boots made on broken glass. There was a thumping and a sliding sound, a vague groan of pain. _Steve_ , Tony thought, chest lighting up like fireworks, and he rolled onto his back, peering over.

It was Steve indeed, looking exhausted and beaten to hell but he smiled at Tony as best as he could. He slid down the slide of rock that Tony fell down, landing with an ‘oof’ and a wince that he tried to disguise. He wasn’t fooling anyone. He didn’t have any of his weapons, presumably having lost them in the crash, but Tony could see he held a strip of grenades in one hand- only two left. They would have to be used wisely.

“Can you get up?” He asked, looking down at him with clear concern. _With concern,_ Tony thought, withholding a scoff, _when he’s probably just as fucked up as I am._ That was Steve, he knew.

“Fuck it, right?” Tony could only croak and Steve grinned down at him, roguishly. Despite his weariness his eyes were ignited, brighter than Tony had ever seen and he offered him a hand, covered in filth with the skin scratched up, but Tony accepted it and let him haul him to his feet. He did his best to ignore the burn- he would have to power through it as best he could. “They’ll be on us again, soon. We have to go.”

Steve agreed with a quiet _yes,_ and then he was shoving him forward without further ado, forcing him to move. Tony started with a brisk pace, almost running, holding his gun close. Steve matched his pace and remained by his side, albeit just behind, and Tony wondered if he was wounded just as badly as Tony. He thought to ask, but his own words rang true- he could hear the drones above, speaking as if calling out to each other, and suddenly any other ideas rather than fleeing lost their importance. They splashed through the water together, forcing themselves to move quicker, knowing the drones could cover land faster than they could.

One drone leapt down from above, recovering from the fall with ease but having no time to turn before Tony greeted it with a hail of bullets. It shrieked and curled up in death, but he had no time to check if it was truly dead- he just kept moving for the hole he knew lead downwards, where the Omega waited. He could hear the others landing behind them, the water splashing and glass cracking.

“Steve,” Tony said warningly, worriedly, but Steve pushed at his back again, pushing him forward.

“I’ve got an idea,” He explained, and Tony wasn’t reassured by how winded he sounded. “Just keep running, get to the Omega. I’ll follow.”

 _You better,_ he thought as he sped up, pushing his body close to his limit. If the vision was true, the hole in the ground wasn’t far and the Omega lay close beyond. He could only hope that Steve still followed. The drones were closing in behind them and Tony’s heart felt like it was being clenched in a fist of stone- and then he came to the hole and threw himself down without a moment’s hesitation, praying that there wasn’t anything terrible awaiting him at the bottom.

He, admittedly, felt like a bit of a badass as he slid down the angled rock, feeling like some Indiana Jones like character, and then he ruined it by losing his balance in the last stretch and tumbling to the floor, kicking desperately in an attempt to right himself. From above, Steve did the same with greater results and infinite more grace, and he landed on his feet with only a heavy exhale. At this time, Tony had managed to scramble upwards, and offered Steve the cheesiest of grins despite the stabbing pain in his ribs.

“Nice one.” He said- or rather, he would have said if Steve didn’t tackle him straight to the floor, body like a sack full of cement shouting, “Get down!”

At the exact same time they hit the ground, Steve’s body curling around his as if to defend him, an explosion rocked the world above. Some rocks fell down, loosened by the blast, but it avoided the two of them and made the ground shake beneath them- and once Steve was sure they were safe, he uncurled, still breathing heavily. Thick and heavy dust fell from the ceiling, coating the two of them, and Tony coughed, keeping his head covered as best he could. He waited it out, until every rock had fallen, sealing the hole above them and plunging them into darkness. He panicked for a split second- he _hated_ the dark- but there was a faint glow coming from the water across the stretch of the garage, casting a faint blue light. He took comfort in that, and tried not to think about they had likely just sealed their only exit.

“Are you okay?” Steve breathed, sounding just as winded as Tony, and the man had to catch his breath properly before he could reply. Steve looked terrible- covered in thin cuts and discoloured skin he could only hope in a twisted way that Steve would live long enough to see become bruises. Tony knew he looked just as bad- he felt it.

“I’m fine.” He managed to lie, and Steve barely managed a snort but he rolled to one side and sat up, stiffly. Tony felt his pain, as his muscles felt just as stiff.

“Get to cover.” He heard Steve mutter and he nodded, making a tiny hiss as his shoulders protested taking his own weight, a spark of sharp pain running between his shoulder and neck. Steve placed a hand a little higher than his hip, his touch warm and reassuring, and Tony grabbed it, pulling him to the nearest fallen part of rock. They cowered together behind the piece of fallen ceiling, broken bodies protesting, with no way to get out of the shitty situation they found themselves in. Steve crowded up against him, their shoulders pressing firmly together.

“It’s there,” Tony said, remembering, the memory as clear as day. They stared together at the pool of water, noting how still it was, unnaturally so. “Under the water.”

The world was quiet around them, but not for much longer- from somewhere above or around them- Tony couldn’t tell- there was a banging, a thudding, something impossibly loud that made the already delicate ceiling above them shake, emitting dust. Tony knew that it was the rest of the drones, trying to find another entrance. Steve sucked in a breath and pushed Tony along, budging up alongside him. They were elbow to elbow, shoulder to shoulder once again, and Tony could feel Steve’s body heat and every shuddering breath he made.

From behind them both, there was a shrieking of metal as it was forcefully bent, moulded into some useless shape. The noise was clearly coming from behind them now, and dread resided permanently in Tony’s stomach. _The drones,_ he thought, the dozens of them that had chased down their ship. He was willing to wager they had clawed their way down and were hunting them both, trying to prevent them from getting any further.

The horrible noises were only getting louder, so close Tony feared they were only inches behind them, and Steve leant out from behind cover, poking his head around the side. Tony wanted to grab him back, _what if you’re seen,_ but Steve was gasping and drawing back even before Tony had a chance, drawing himself up tighter against the fallen piece of ceiling.

“The Alpha,” Steve hissed, planting his elbow into Tony’s side and he grunted out a curse, out of pain and fear. He could hear it prowling behind them, its chest rumbling as Steve pulled closer, invading Tony’s space and tucking his head into Tony’s neck, desperate not to be seen. His weight and warmth was almost reassuring, and Tony only wanted to pull him closer. But they had no time. They never had any time.

Tony twisted his neck to look at Steve, pawing at him, pulling just enough away and ignoring how his heart pleaded for him not to so he could look down at Steve properly, looking into his eyes. They were filled with pain and fear and resignation, and Tony hated seeing it.

“I’m gonna,” He was too out of breath to continue, and took a brief moment to recover, still panting. His side was pulsing, screaming, and he could feel his pulse in his throat. “I’m gonna draw it away, okay?” He reached for Steve’s hand, gloveless and sweaty, and clasped it tightly. “You kill the Omega, okay?”

Steve looked horrified. “No.” His voice was just as breathy as Tony’s, and the cut above his eyebrow was bleeding, trickling down the smooth alabaster skin of his cheek. “You won’t make it far enough, you’re too injured.”

“Steve,” He protested, but Steve was still talking. He was unclipping his weapons from his hip, fiddling almost blindly in the darkness, and then he was pressing the only grenades they had into Tony’s other hand.

“Take them,” He said, even as Tony argued, _no no no,_ and then he shifted, moving to kneel in front of him and grimacing as his knees met the rough ground. He met his gaze with ease, and didn’t even try to smile. They both knew it would be a pathetic attempt at reassurance. “Listen up, Tony.”

The noises were drifting away now, but still ominously close, and the risk of them getting caught was high, higher than Tony was strictly comfortable with. He looked away, towards where the Omega resided, but Steve’s bloodied hand reached up and pulled him back, touching his bare cheek and forcing Tony to look at him. The skin to skin contact almost burnt. “Neither one of us is getting out of here alive,” He said, apologetically. “You understand that, don’t you?”

“Yes.” He breathed, but didn’t add _but I only care about you._ He could feel his throat tightening up, his brows knitting. If there was anyone who deserved to walk away from all of this, it was Steve, no matter how impossible survival was. He deserved to have a good life, the opportunity to carry on. Tony had lived too long doing nothing with himself.

But Steve was staring directly into his eyes, expression pointed and face drawn tightly, and Tony knew there was no way either man was coming out of here alive. There was no point in him pressing the matter. This was the end of the both of them, and the war if they were lucky.

He took the grenade, defeated, and clutched it to him, knowing that soon, it would be his only companion and his only defence, what Steve had been to him hundreds of times. He let out a shuddering breath, suffering in too many different kinds of pain and he almost whimpers when Steve pulled away, letting go of his hand and his cheek. The Captain drew back, still kneeling but propping himself up on one, looking around in case of the Alpha. It still lingers, close, the thudding making the water ripple.

“Steve,” He said, pleadingly, and Steve turned back to him, so vulnerable and human, and with a tiny smile. His lips were cracked and dry, but Tony still wanted nothing more than to kiss them, to draw him close and keep him safe. It wasn’t supposed to end this way.

“Thank you,” Steve tells him, his face so open and genuine, and Tony knows there’s not a damn thing he deserves thanking for. But Steve continues nonetheless. “For getting me this far.” Steve leant in, so close, he could feel the warmth of his breath on his face. “You’re a good man, Tony.” His smile wavers a little. “I wish I had the chance to get to know you better.”

Tony’s heart breaks at that, shattering into small and sharp pieces, colder than icicles. His throat clenched up tight and his mouth was dry, making it almost impossible to swallow. He tried his best, which was all he had been doing for the past forever, trying his best, and it was never enough. He wanted to scream at the top of his lungs until his throat was raw, wanted to kick and cry like a child having a tantrum, but he knew this was it, this was how it had to go. The story was written for them, and the ending couldn’t be erased.

He supposed that now, at the end of all things, he only had one more thing to say.

He looked at Steve and dug down deep, finding all of the courage and the honesty and the pain he could discover and brought it all up to the surface when he said, with a broken voice, “I love you.”

Steve immediately looked startled, like Tony had plunged a knife in his gut, and Tony knew it would have had the same effect. The Captain gaped at him, eyes wide and brows raised, and Tony couldn’t stomach the humiliation.

“I know, I’m sorry.” He could feel his eyes burning, filling up, and the clear alarm in Steve’s eyes only amplified, but Tony couldn’t get himself under control. The dam had broken now, collapsing in on itself under the pressure, water flooding and swallowing them both whole. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry-”

“No, no, it’s okay.” Steve said, soothingly, even as he sounded like he was barely keeping himself together. “How- How long-”

“For so long,” He told him, desperately, reaching up and pawing at Steve’s scratched, bloodied and beautiful face. Both their skin was slick with muck, and Tony couldn’t think of anything less romantic or idyllic. “I’m sorry,” He sobbed, trying to remain as quiet as possible before he brought the world crashing down around them. “I’m so sorry, I know it’s selfish of me but I have to tell you, when you’d remember, just for a little longer and just this once-“

“It’s not selfish,” Steve said fiercely. Tony hiccupped, feeling pathetic and useless, everything a Stark man should never feel. “I’m sorry. I can’t even imagine how much this hurts.”

Tony could only snort at that- that was Steve through and through, only thinking about others while Tony only thought about himself. He didn’t think that was ever going to change. “Don’t apologise, it’s not your fault. You don’t remember any of the loops, anything I’ve said or done-”

“I don’t remember if I love you back.” Steve said, bluntly, and after a moment Tony nodded. “Fuck.” He said, running a hand through his limp blonde hair, a little greasy and streaked with dirt and blood, but he was still beautiful in Tony’s eyes. Tony watched him, swallowed around the lump in his throat as Steve looked up, looking torn like a butterfly on a pin, looking between Tony and the Alpha that still hunted them. It wasn’t exactly an opportune time or place for Tony to confess his love, but what other chance would he have?

Tony had no idea where the Alpha was, and Steve looked conflicted, the inner war that was raging inside him clear on his face. Tony waited it out for a few long moments, before Steve finally returned to him, looking suddenly at peace, like he had come to a final conclusion. He shifted to face Tony again. “You’re a good man, Tony Stark.” He repeated, pointedly. He took his face in both of his hands, looking down at him with a determined expression, and then surged forward, pressing his lips to Tony’s.

His lips were chapped and rough, and the kiss was terrible and supremely awkward and frankly it hurt a little, but it was the best thing Tony had ever felt. Steve hands were warm cupped around him, mouth eager and yet apologetic, and Tony clutched for him and never wanted to let him go. He pulled him closer, whimpering against his mouth and Steve responded in kind, kissing too fast and too sloppy, but it was practically perfect.

Then he was wrenching himself away, pulling his hands back with one final caress and Tony wasn’t ashamed to admit he chased after him, hands blindly groping for the warmth. He wanted more- the embrace had ended far too quickly, he barely had enough time to enjoy it. But Steve slipped away, leaving him without an apology but with one final look, his eyes filled with pain and loss and determination. Before Tony could say a thing, Steve was up on his feet, spinning, and running from cover as fast as his feet would allow him, kicking up dust as he moved.

Tony watched him, lips tingling as Steve sped away, limping just a little, and managing to stay upright somehow. The noises he made as he moved were deafening, and the Alpha heard them immediately, roaring out a declaration- a challenge. Steve had ran in the opposite direction of the Omega, running blindly with little clue where the Alpha was- but as Tony watched his heart’s desire slip away into the darkness, he saw a slither of blue and silver amongst the shadow and could hear the creature moving against the crushed metal, glass and stone. Steve was splashing through puddles of water, fleeing to god knows where, with the creature right on his tail.

Tony’s heart felt like it was being pricked with needles, and his wounds only felt a little worse, but he wasn’t going to let Steve’s bravery be wasted. He forced himself up with a hand on his cover, clutching the grenade in one hand. He lumbered over to the water, moving as fast as he could, not letting the seconds slip by easily.

He could hear the Alpha snarling and thudding across the floor, the sound of Steve’s movements swallowed up, and Tony wondered how long Steve would last. He didn’t think it would be for very long, and he was right.

“Tony,” Steve cried out when Tony was only inches away, at the top of his lungs to let Tony know that that was it, he was out of time and in just a moment the Alpha would be coming for him- then he was cut off with a crash, the sound of more rocks falling and thundering, and Tony could no longer hear him.

He almost faltered, looking back to see the rocks shifting, but then he was at the edge of the water, feet splashing. He looked at the cement sliding and the Alpha glitching, flashes of sapphire as it killed Steve for the last time. He wanted to scream at the top of his lungs _I loved him, I love him you bastard._ After everything Tony had done, everything he had stove for, the countless decisions he had made and loops he had lived Steve was dead, _he was dead,_ and there was nothing he could do to change that. He had to accept it, and he had to do what the power had made him the only one capable of doing.

He forced himself to look away, ignored the pain in his chest and jumped, taking in a lungful of air and diving in it headfirst.

The ice cold was almost overpowering, greeting him like a slap to the face but he persevered, forcing himself down. He forced himself to swim with eyes open, and the feeling was uncomfortable and strange but he could see the Omega deep below the surface, a shimmering glow. It was behind fallen structures of metal and concrete and he kicked himself off another, pushing himself down further, trying to swim as fast as he could. His skin crawled, goose bumps raising on his arms.

He could feel it when the Alpha followed him, throwing itself into the water. He was running out of time and he swam as close to the Omega as he could, with victory just within his reach. He wouldn’t let Steve’s sacrifice be squandered. He didn’t look back, but he knew the Chitauri was going to be faster than him, cutting through the water with ease. He kept struggling forward, inching closer to the Omega, not fast enough.

The water was deeper than he anticipated, only getting colder as he swam, and he could feel the ripples in the water from the Alpha chasing him down. His heart was thumping wildly in his chest, a thunderous beat. The Omega was almost blinding him now, painfully bright, and he squinted against the glow.

He was close enough to drop the grenade now, and he kept on kicking forward to keep his momentum, knowing the Alpha was right behind him. He could feel its ominous presence. Tony grasped the pin in one hand, yanking it out firmly- and then the Alpha was there, and it lunged for him and pierced him with its claws, right through the chest, missing his heart only by inches.

He cried out in reaction to the sharp pain, and water immediately filled his mouth. The Alpha ripped out its claws and moved fluidly through the water, with more inhuman grace than Tony had ever seen, and he couldn’t do a single thing to defend himself- except release the grenade, and hope it reached its intended target. It was looking at him, he could tell, and he bet it was smug. He would have been. They watched each other, Tony unable to do a damn thing and the Alpha unwilling to, and waited for the grenade to fall. No doubt, the Alpha hadn’t even noticed he had removed the pin. That was a fatal mistake, one that Tony would enjoy watching the creature learn.

The readied grenade drifted downwards, lost in the water and fell to the Omega’s very core even as Tony was still, wound leaking blood, body feeling weightless and useless. He hurt, ceaselessly, and he knew that this was it, this was the end- and that was okay. He was done. He had finished what he had set out to do, so he could finish with a smile.

The grenade slipped down, falling and resting onto the Omega, and Tony knew it was game over. He let go of the pin and let it drift away, grinning despite himself, and the Alpha only had time to realize and scream in rage before the grenade detonated.

The blast forced him forward as if he was convulsing, pushing him forward and it hurt, everything hurt, and he could hear the dimmed explosion and see the Alpha squirming, trying to get away even thought it was hopeless and _oh god-_

The Alpha lost its shimmer, all colour leaking away as it died in agony, and the Omega pulsed behind Tony, before it itself exploded, destroying the Louvre from within and killing all in its reach.

A pulse of energy and sheer force emitted from within, stretching far across the land, sweeping across Paris. The closer to the explosion, the more environmental damage- windows shattering, structures falling, buildings caving in on themselves. The water rippled and the drones on the land crumbled into dust upon touch, lives and colours extinguished like candle flame, and the corpses were strewn all over the ground. As quickly as the blast touched them, it was gone.

The world was silent and still again.

Inside the Louvre, the Omega was destroyed, as was everything around it. Still cradled by the water, Tony was still and his eyes were closed, and his body limp.

All the blood spread into the water around him- his, the Omega’s, the Alpha’s, and it all billowed around his corpse, as dark and as thick as ink. A mix of darkest blue and deep red blood drifted towards Tony, as if called to him, and it curled around his wrists and throat like chains.

Everything was quiet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some character death and things that can be seen as suicide in this chapter!
> 
> I have a tumblr, now at shepardings!


	9. epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's an ending.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, it's the last chapter! Hope you guys enjoy. It's been real.
> 
> I made this ending just a little longer than the ending of the actual movie- if I left it like that, you guys would have killed me.
> 
> There are no warnings for this chapter- no blood, no guts. Fancy that.

That he was dead was a fact, one Tony accepted completely. He didn’t approve of it, of course. He would have appreciated survival and a happy ending for all involved but let it not be said that Tony couldn’t face the truth. He was gone, along with Steve and the entire squad, and unless there were in fact some pearly gates up there and he had redeemed himself in his sacrifice he wasn’t going to be seeing them- or anyone for that matter- again.

He had done his job. The Omega was dead. That was that.

So it was accurate to say he was surprised when he woke up to the sound of a rumbling engine below him and distant, muffled words on a radio.

He opened his eyes, very slowly. He was greeted by the morning sunlight coming through the window, illuminating the inside of the helicopter he rode in, and he recognised it immediately. The sight, the sound- he knew it. It wasn’t burned into his memory like Heathrow was, but he remembered it well. It was the beginning of all his troubles- he was on the helicopter than brought him to London, all the way to the Director. This was hours before he woke in Heathrow. The loop was, somehow, broken.

But he was supposed to be dead. It didn’t make sense.

He hadn’t slept on the ride over, he remembered that. He didn’t feel the trademark grogginess he suffered when he woke up, with no heavy eyes or irate grumbles. He felt clearheaded and alert, like he had gotten the exact rest he needed- or he had been reborn entirely. He didn’t particularly like the sound of that.

Tony cast his mind back as he sat up, hyperaware of the comfort he felt- the plush seat beneath him, the lack of soreness in his muscles. It felt like forever since he had been dry, and dressed so immaculately. But he remembered being attacked by the Alpha, killed so close to his destination and with the satisfaction that he had done his job and killed the Omega. But he had paid his own life in the process. He thought that was what he had to do. He felt like a fool for thinking it, but it happened in stories all the time- the cowardly main character who couldn’t be further from a hero and took his life for granted redeemed himself, made a sacrifice so others more deserving could live.

Tony was dead, or close to it at least. He committed himself to that frame of narrative.

So what was he doing here?

He stared at the back of the pilots head. They were circling around London, about to land in Trafalgar Square and when he glanced out of the window, squinting against the sunlight, he could see it was just as abandoned as it was before. There was nothing to suggest any change, nothing that would make him think the Director wouldn’t arrest him on sight- it may have been the loop had been altered by past events, not broken completely.

He didn’t want to think about it for too long- he was alive, somehow, and he didn’t want to look a gift horse in the mouth lest it be taken away. Maybe he could slip away and get to Heathrow before the Director could arrest him and find Steve and Banner, if they were alive, and see if they knew what was going on.

They touched down at that moment, and a man from outside approached, pulling the door apart. The spinning rotors were a thousand times louder now, but Tony could hear something else- the ringing of bells, loud and cheerful sounding. It was almost celebratory. Church bells alongside Big Ben, he thought, and he glanced out of the window to see the structure, standing proud and tall above them. _The first change,_ he thought, and he wasn’t sure if the fluttering in his chest was nerves or excitement.

He got out of his seat somewhat hesitantly, sliding his feet to touch the ground, and he felt his Starkphone vibrate in his pocket. He remembered, now. He had text Pepper last time to let her know he had arrived. Before getting out, he pulled his phone out and unlocked it, seeing that the message was from her.

 _Have you arrived yet??? Have you heard the news??? :)_ It read, and he was surprised at the smiley face. Pepper was usually at loathe to use emoticons, and preferred professionalism, even with someone like Tony. Most times, Tony used them to spite her. It was a rare day that she used one. It seemed to be a rare day for many reasons.

With the same speed he text her the first time he lived this morning, he fired off a reply, _in London now. What news???_

“Mr Stark.” The pilot prompted him from across the helicopter, frowning, and Tony jerked out of his thoughts. Slipping his phone away he thanked him and stepped out, steadying his feet on the ground. He ducked to avoid the rotors, the sun in his eyes, but he could see the same woman waiting for him a few feet away. Her smile was almost as bright as the sun, and this time she didn’t wait for him to approach. She stepped forward to greet him, holding out her hand.

“Mr Stark,” She greeted him, and shook his hand enthusiastically when he accepted hers. “A pleasure!”

It was a change he hadn’t expected. He remembered her, professional and shy, and now she was beaming at him all brightness. It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate it, but he was expecting more of a routine.

“Hi.” He said, a little stunned, and his voice was incomprehensible over the rotors. She smiled anyway. He assumed it didn’t really matter to her what he said.

“Have you heard the news?” She asked over the noise, the question bursting out of her like she couldn’t control herself. After a moment she looked a little bashful at her own eagerness.

“No.” He said honestly, and she smiled wider. Her teeth were very white. She gestured for him to follow and led him away without a moment’s hesitation. He thought to protest, but to his confusion she guided him in a different direction, away from the Director’s building. Before he could ask, she explained. “Director Fury is making a televised appearance,” She said. “It starts soon. We’ll be watching it elsewhere.”

“Right.” Tony could think of nothing else to say. He walked with her, silently, only barely listening to the mindless chatter she had shared with him before. She seemed much happier- there was a spring to her step, and as they walked against the noise of the church bells, he felt that the news that awaited him could only be good.

Eventually she was done guiding him down the empty streets of London and she walked him into a building not quite as grand as Whitehall, but still beautiful. The armed soldiers who stood at the doors paid them no heed, not even looking at them as they passed. They were grinning at each other, their bodies lax and calm and their expressions happy.

There were many questions burning at the back of Tony’s throat, many of which he knew the woman wouldn’t be able to answer. He decided to wait, and see if the answers would come to him willingly over time.

Soon he found himself in a room full of people, most of them in the same military uniform the woman was wearing, and the others dressed in suits and other formal wear. The woman stood at his side, still grinning from ear to ear. She seemed to be the only one in the room who had something to smile about- he could feel the tension between the other people in the room, and it made him nervous. He was so used to the same old routine of waking up at Heathrow and knowing what would happen that everything else felt alien to him. He had no idea what to expect, and he didn’t like being alone.

He wanted Steve. His lips tingled with the thought of their kiss.

The group of people occasionally shared glances and vague murmurs, ones of the same confusion he felt, but they mostly gazed at a large widescreen television that had been mounted on the wall. The channel was BBC News and a presenter was talking into the camera, expression completely serious. Underneath, the headline read in bold letters, DIRECTOR FURY SURPRISE APPERANCE.

Tony barely had time to wonder exactly what was happening before the screen changed to be replaced by Director Fury, standing at a podium with the same blank expression as always. He was surrounded by people and illuminated occasionally by the flashing of cameras, and journalists stood near his feet, looking awed and confused in equal measure. The crowd around Tony abruptly fell silent, a kind of hushed reverence amongst them. The Director took a moment for silence to fall where he stood, before he began to speak. Tony hoped that whatever it was, it was good news.

In the corner of the screen, it read that the appearance was breaking news, being broadcast live, worldwide. It was difficult to comprehend that nearly everyone in the world was watching, right at this moment.

“Just before sunrise this morning,” He began, and his voice was very loud in the quiet. “A large surge of energy was detected in Paris. We don’t know exactly what this means yet, but, the result appears to be a total collapse of the enemy’s capacity to fight.” He paused to take in a breath and let that information sink in, and there was a ripple throughout Tony’s crowd. On the screen, the people started to applaud and Tony could see smiles that matched the ones he could see around him.  People began to talk lowly and quickly, enthusiastic but quiet enough to hear when the Director continued. One woman drew a man beside her into a hug, and even one around the back of the crowd cheered. Fury continued, his expression never changing. “Russian and Chinese troops are now moving in across Europe without resistance. Tomorrow, our troops will advance on the western front. We believe we are marching to claim a victory for ourselves; for our loved ones; for our country men, and the entire human race.”

Fury continued for a long time, saying the same inspirational nonsense, but not many were listening. People were turning and babbling to one another, eyes bright with matching grins. The woman who had brought him was gone, having slipped away at some point without Tony noticing, no doubt to go and find her next orders. He didn’t expect there would be any waiting- to them, the war was over before it had already been waged.

Tony stepped out of the crowd before it could consume him, eyes on the diagram of the surge of energy. He was the only frown in a sea of smiles, but no one was looking at him. The loop was broken, the war was won- all good news, but none of it make a lick of sense.

He needed to get to someone who did know what happened to him- even if they didn’t remember ever meeting him before.

Tony turned on his heel, sweeping out of the room. No one noticed his quick exit. He hurried his way down the hallways, trying to find the entrance where he had seen a desk in a waiting room. There had been no one there at the time, but by the time he found it again there was a secretary in the seat, tapping away at his computer. He looked up at Tony’s entrance, brows arched.

“I need a car to Heathrow.” He said without even a greeting, and fifteen minutes later he was speeding across the motorway, deflecting the driver’s attempts at conversation.

-

Tony found his old resting spot with little difficulty, the bags still piled up atop each other and the crowds still bustling around, completely unaware of how their fate had been changed.

He found that idea strange. The war had been fought and won with hard work, and no one would know. The war had been fought by him, mostly, and he was the only one who would know. Tony felt half irritated by that, all that work with no acknowledgement, but he knew he would rather have no one know what had almost happened to the world. Pepper for one would never let it go.

He just found it strange that he remembered the entire thing incredibly clearly- every single one of the loops, each a vivid memory. He remembered getting tazed before the loops began, remembered his agonizing death at the hands of the Alpha, the first time he looped. And everyone around him with exactly the same, just with no memory of him or the many battles they had fought.

He watched the soldiers wander, still rushing to and fro, and shook the thoughts away. There was no point thinking about it now. It was done. He took the moment to listen to the life around him, the shouting and the orders, the woman on the tannoy, the engines of the vehicles driving by. With any luck, he wouldn’t be hearing these sounds for as long as he lived.

“What are you?” He heard a familiar voice call over the bustling sounds of the airport.

Multiple just as familiar voices roared back. “Warriors!”

“And what do warriors do?”

Tony turned his head, away from the pile of bags and to the right, where a group of soldiers emerged from the crowd. Coulson came into his sight, and even while their eyes met by chance, Coulson didn’t give him a second look. He didn’t remember Tony’s face, or at least didn’t want to acknowledge him. “Kill!” J squad answered, jogging just behind him with lightly flushed faces. Tony’s spot amongst them was empty.

“What are you going to do?”

“Kill!”

“What are you going to do?” Coulson asked again, and the reply was immediate and twice as loud.

_“Kill!”_

When Coulson fell silent, Sylvan and Barton began to mutter amongst themselves. He watched her nudge Thor playfully, her smile sweet, and Tony smiled to himself at the sight. He wouldn’t miss any of them particularly, but he could appreciate them and be glad for their survival. They deserved it more than Tony did.

He lost sight of them for a while, as the convoy of vehicles he used to roll under went by, and he thought for a while, about just how all of this worked and what they would do tomorrow, when there were no drones to kill or be killed by. He considered intercepting them in a moment of madness- but what would he say? _Thanks for dying for me?_

Instead he watched them run, growing further and further away and getting quieter, until they rounded a corner, and disappeared. He stared at the spot they last stood for a long moment, spending the moment thinking of people he was more than likely never going to see again.

Then, he turned away. He had more important things to do than mope. If they were alive, then maybe there would be someone else completely unaware of the things they had done together.

He hoped so.

-

Tony stepped inside Hangar 3, and the first thing that hit him was the lack of noise. He could hear the rumble of voices as they spoke, new laughter and jokes he hadn’t heard before, but he couldn’t hear the sounds of the claws spinning or the heavy footsteps of the Iron Man suits. There was no shooting or repulsor blasts, and each practise floor was empty. His nose wasn’t full of the scent of hot metal- the air was clean.

All chatter died down the moment Tony stepped inside, and some people turned to stare, eying him cautiously. Dressed to the nines in his suit, Tony felt only minutely better than he did in the uniform Coulson had given him. He made sure to move with confidence, walking like he belonged, and to his relief no one challenged him. He could still see Sam around the back, leaning against the wall with his arms across his chest, and he avoided eye contact.

 _Please still be here,_ he thought as he made his way up, hyperaware of how everyone looked at him. It was with curiosity now rather than distaste, associating his dress style with power and command. They watch him move and with no interception. Tony wondered if anyone recognised him as a Stark, but he didn’t much care, not anymore.

 _Please, please,_ he thought, steeling himself for potential disappointment as he reached Steve’s spot and rounded the corner, stepping out onto the practise floor. He held in his breath.

A man was out in the middle of the floor alone, feet flat against the ground and back arched with blonde hair. Tony stopped dead.

 _Steve,_ he thought, and he could have happily died right there. He let out his breath and basked in the sight of him, healthy, capable, and _alive._ He watched him for a moment with a smile, appreciating the stillness, the peace. He couldn’t imagine how weird he looked to the other soldiers, standing there and smiling at their Captain like an idiot. He didn’t particularly care, either.

But he couldn’t stay there forever. He took in a deep breath, and took the first step forward.

“Excuse me,” He called out, and cleared his throat. His voice had come out breathy and weird- not the best of first impressions. “Captain Rogers.”

Rather than ignoring him like he usually did, Steve turned his head, his expression blank. Upon seeing Tony heading straight for him, he frowned. He eased himself down slowly to the floor, legs spreading, and he rolled to his side and got on his knees. He got up with no difficulty, not even wincing at the strain there must have been on his muscles. He was different- he didn’t scowl or bare his teeth this time. “Who are you?” He asked, in an only slightly harsh voice. Compared to every other time, it was practically welcoming him with open arms.

Tony looked at him for a long moment, taking in everything. Tony had thought he had seen the last of him, that he was dead and never coming back. He still had no idea how this was happening, but if it brought everyone who had died back and Steve back to him, he could deal with it. He’d greet every day with a smile.

Steve had gone without an answer for too long. He eyed Tony like a stranger- and that was exactly what he was. The thought cut him deep, but he willed it away. He would think on that later. “I had asked not to be disturbed, sir. Is there some kind of problem? Do you work under Pierce?”

Tony just kept looking at him, at the skin he had seen wet with blood, the clear eyes he had seen empty. He watched Steve’s chest rise and fall with his deep breaths, and then he realised, _Steve was alive. He was here._ He smiled, widely, and then couldn’t help but laugh. His soft chuckles filled the quiet, and no matter how hard he tried to get himself under control he couldn’t.

“Going to share the joke?” Steve asked after a moment, and his voice was ice. He crossed his arms over his chest, and Tony was painfully aware of the height and muscle the other man had on him. He tried harder to stop laughing- he didn’t want to be hauled off or kicked out- and tried to squash his smile.

“I’m sorry, it’s just,” He cleared his throat. “I’m Tony Stark,” He explained, and Steve’s cold look didn’t budge. Clearly, he didn’t like anyone wearing a suit, especially those who didn’t explain themselves quickly. “You don’t know me- well, you do, but you don’t.”

The Captain cocked his head and arched his brows, silently asking for an explanation. Tony looked forward to making that expression crash and burn. “I’m not sure if you’ll believe me, but I hope so. I had your power to reset the day,” He dropped his voice in case anyone was listening in. “We killed the Omega. We won.”

Tony wasn’t sure what he was expecting- disbelief, confusion, joy, maybe tears. For a moment, Steve stared at him, expression freezing. Tony waited for his brain to reboot, for his words to sink in. He could tell it had when Steve reached up to cover his mouth, as if trying to hold in his reaction, and his eyes went very wide. It took a moment for him be capable of words, and Tony gave him that moment. He deserved it.

“I,” He began. “You…”

“The power surge in Paris is because of us,” Tony explained, gently. “We killed it, and they’re no more drones.”

Steve dropped his hand. He opened his mouth, then closed it. He put his hands on his hips and looked at him- properly looked. His face was awestruck, and he was looking at Tony like he couldn’t quite believe he was real. “I thought maybe that was the case,” He said, slowly. “But I didn’t dare think it was true.”

“It is,” Tony confirmed. “You were very brave. You saved a lot of lives.”

“So did you,” Steve shot back, surprisingly confident for a man who had no memories of it, and Tony could only shrug. “I can’t believe it.” There was silence for a long moment, where they just looked at each other, and Tony wondered how it appeared to the onlookers. Steve huffed out a sigh, and there was an honest smile beginning to form. It was a beautiful sight. “I…I don’t know what to do now.”

 _Go on a date with me,_ Tony wanted to ask. He wasn’t so foolish. “There’s no war to fight. What were you doing before?”

“Fighting.” Steve admitted. “I’ve been doing this my whole life.”

“Then maybe you should take a break. You deserve it, after all.” Tony paused, thinking back to every bad decision he had ever made over the course of his life, and thought _what the hell, what’s another? “_ We should go get a drink. Celebrate.”

Steve blinked at him, thrown by the suggestion. Tony tried to not take it personally- he didn’t remember a thing, didn’t know anything about him. It was natural, and it was Tony being unreasonable. Steve looked ready to protest, but Tony waved his hand in a careless gesture and interrupted him. “You said it yourself, you don’t know what to do now. Why not start with a drink?”

“I’m going out to the beach tomorrow,” Steve protested, albeit weakly. Tony shrugged.

“I never said alcohol. And we’ve already done all the fighting for all these lazy bastards- there’ll be nothing to see.” Tony stepped a little closer and flashed him a grin, something borderline flirtatious. He half expected Steve to step away, uncomfortable, but he stood firm. “Come on. Let’s go have some fun, soldier.”

Steve looked like he had already been convinced, but still looked a little hesitant. Tony wagered he would need one last push before he toppled. “I do have a few questions.” Steve said, reluctantly, and Tony could see the burning curiosity.

“I’ll answer them all,” Tony promised, and after only a brief hesitation, the Captain nodded and even smiled. “I have some questions of my own, though, and you still know all this better than I do.”

Steve tilted his head to one side. “Like what?”

“What happens when I die, for starters.”

Steve looked at him oddly. “What?”

“I died killing the Omega- and I woke up before my usual loop. So what happens when I die again? Like, even if it’s just from old age, do I wake up again? Will I restart my entire life, or what?”

Steve was very quiet for a moment, his smile faltering and Tony watched his expression shift, tightening, and his lips purse. “I don’t know,” He said, honestly, and Tony wasn’t sure if the thrum that went through him was one of gripping fear or bizarre excitement. “I suppose we’ll just have to find out.”

“We?” Dozens of emotions flood his system at that- disbelief, excitement, happiness, a little bit of bashfulness and arrogance all in one, just to be confusing.

“Oh, I mean-” Steve flushed a light pink and lost his traction, looking deeply embarrassed. Tony took a twisted kind of pity on him.

“I know what you mean, soldier,” Tony grinned, his heart feeling lighter than it had in years. “We’re going to be buddies for life. Technically, if I’m sort of immortal, I’m going to make you my buddy in the rest of my lives.”

Steve’s expression screamed _oh god why,_ and Tony laughed, daring to step forward and link his arms with Steve. His muscles were somewhat tense under Tony’s arm, but he never pulled away. Tony decided to take that as a good sign.

“Let’s steal a car, handsome.” Tony said, and he could only laugh at the affronted and startled look on the face of the man he loved so deeply it hurt a little. He would ignore it for as long as he lived. He pulled him along, leading him off the practise floor and towards the other soldiers, who were all staring unashamedly. Steve flushed a little under the attentions, but made no protest.

“I can’t believe we’re doing this.” Steve complained, bitterly, but Tony could tell when people meant it, and he could hear Steve’s little smile fighting to break free. “I’m going to get in so much trouble with my superiors if I just up and disappear.”

“You’ll be hanging out with me! It’s worth it, and they’ll understand.” Tony said, with no humility. He guided him towards the hangar door, and all the eyes on them meant nothing to him. “Come on, Hero. Let’s go.”

-

He had a nice smile, Steve thought. He wished, after everything, he could at least recognise that smile.

He didn’t. He looked at him intensely, taking in every little detail- the little strands of grey in his hair, the calloused feel of his hands on Steve’s arm, the little wrinkles around his eyes. Nothing stood out to him, nothing tugged at his brain or his heart.

Stark- _Tony-_ had no doubt noticed the way Steve was looking at him, and he kept shying away from meeting Steve’s eyes. Despite all his boldness, the man was almost skittish, clearly nervous about something that had happened between them. Something that he didn’t intend to share.

He remembered kissing Bucky desperately, trying his best to apply pressure to the wound before his only friend bled out, and he wondered if lightning had stuck twice.

It didn’t feel weird with Tony. It should have. By the way he spoke he had clearly had hundreds of says with Steve- he brought up his mother, Peggy, Bucky, things Steve wouldn’t have told just anyone- and looked at his wristwatch, and it hadn’t even been an hour. It didn’t feel strange but it didn’t quite feel normal, like he was sure he had met this person before, but they bore the face of a stranger.

It felt right, though, when their hands brushed when they talked together down a London street.

The tiny touch didn’t bother Steve in the slightest- but Tony jerked at the touch like he had been shocked, like a current ran through his body. His eyes looked wild, raw, desperate. He opened his mouth, apologies no doubt already forming on his tongue, but before they could be said- never to be taken back- Steve touched their hands together.

Tony’s jaw clicked shut and it shifted underneath his skin, like he wanted to protest. He looked helpless, lost, and Steve could only hope he could be a guide. He waited until Tony looked up and met his eyes, and he tried to smile, hoping he looked carefree. It felt like more of a grimace, baring his teeth like they were stuck together with the toffee his grandmother used to make, but Tony’s eyes softened.

Tony’s hand turned, almost a subconscious movement, and Steve took his hand in his. He might have been worried about a public display of affection- but there were few people around, and those who were had other things to think about. His mind was telling him it was crazy, he didn’t know a damn thing about this man. He wondered if it was true that he had once brought five women home from his father’s friend’s party, and wondered if he would be offended if he asked. Maybe he already had.

He asked another burning question instead.

“Did we ever,” Steve prompted, and left Tony to fill in the blank with whatever he pleased- touch, kiss, fuck?

“I didn’t want to pressure you.” Tony told him, slowly, and that was answer enough. Steve thought about it for a moment, and he thought his mind would have been spinning at such a revelation, such heavy implication, but his mind is clear. It was normal. It was right.

He wasn’t under any delusion- they weren’t going to kiss or have some other connection and then all of Steve’s memories would come back thanks to the power of true love, but if anything could happen in a life that once existed, it could happen again. Even if he could trust nothing else, Steve trusted himself, and if he loved Tony, he thought maybe he could love him again.

Steve squeezed Tony’s hand. He looked up at him, questioningly, and Steve saw how he looked almost winded, like he couldn’t believe this was happening. Steve laughed a little- it was endearing, seeing a man like Tony Stark look so humbled.

“Let’s go get that drink.” Steve said, like everything was going to be okay, and when Tony smiled, he thought that maybe it was going to be.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. Love you!
> 
> I have a tumblr, at shepardings.

**Author's Note:**

> There aren't any explicit warnings for this chapter, bar fairly graphic character death and maybe some body horror and vomit trigger warnings. 
> 
> I have a tumblr, at johnnytopsider.


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